


Be Alive With Me Tonight

by Caeseria



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Keith (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Anal Sex, BAMF Lance (Voltron), Blood and Violence, Blow Jobs, Body Paint, Bonding, Claiming Bites, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fights, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Gay Disasters, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I am so happy that is a tag!, Kissing, M/M, Mating Bites, Mating Bond, Mission Fic, Missions Gone Wrong, Mutual Pining, Omega Lance (Voltron), Rimming, Rivalry, Scent Marking, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Undercover Missions, Unresolved Sexual Tension, klance, omega biology, random pop culture references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2020-07-29 02:26:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 76,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20074594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caeseria/pseuds/Caeseria
Summary: When the Blade of Marmora requests assistance on an information gathering mission, Lance and Keith go undercover as a bonded alpha and omega pair. At first, it seems like this is going to be more like a vacation than a mission – right up until it everything falls apart and they realize how unprepared they really are.  Now, Lance and Keith have to fight to not only survive, but to make it out together. They’ll have to rely not only on their skills as Paladin, but the bond they’ve created and nurtured between them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many, many thanks to my favourite person and beta, Svana_Vrika, for looking this over for me when she'd probably rather be writing her Free! boys! ;)
> 
> First time writing a/b/o, and I am so looking forward to this, oh yes. :D (And, Lance is super fun to write, I love him terribly).
> 
> I will update the tags as I go along.
> 
> I'm Caeseria on tumblr should you need to scream at me and @caeseria_nsfw on twitter :)
> 
> *If you are not reading this on A03, then my work has been stolen and is being distributed without my permission.*

Not that Lance is keeping count, but he’s sort of getting sick of being fired at by Galra sentries that are programmed to kill on sight. Voltron's been tasked with destroying another one of these sentry factories that seem to be littered around this section of this particular galaxy, but the catch this time is that it's a smaller facility; it's not planet or moon sized, and therefore they can't just fly with the lions, weapons blazing, and take the place down from the inside like last time. Nope, this is going to require finessing the operation, and that's where Lance comes in.

This is the perfect chance for Lance to prove he's a valuable member of the team, with valuable skills. He's going to walk right in there and line up his shot like the sharp shooter he tells everyone he is. He's going to take out the main turbine thing in the center of this sentry factory and then he's going to get the hell out without dying. (Preferably without anyone dying; it’s a little difficult to form Voltron if part of Team Awesome is mortally wounded.) 

“Lance, do you have eyes on Keith?” Shiro sounds a little stressed as his voice filters across the comm channel from his lion. “Hunk, I’ve got a pile of drones on my six, can you – “

“I got it, Shiro.” Hunk, on the other hand, sounds he’s got everything under control. Lance can hear background babble from Allura, talking with Pidge; okay, maybe there’s a bit of shouting going on, and is that shots being fired – ?

“Lance?!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Lance risks a quick glance out over the cavernous room. It’s so vast that the space fades into purple shadow above where the support pillars soar toward the ceiling. The factory has three floors and this is the top-most level, and right across the way, in the only three feet of available cover, blocking it like a freaking A-Hole, is the man of the moment and star of Lance's occasional gay fantasies, Keith Kogane. "Yeah, I got eyes on him," Lance deadpans. "He's in my spot."

"Shut your quiznak and get over here." Keith gestures rapidly with his hand at Lance, but Lance can't parse him at all because Keith is head to toe in that Blade of Marmora gear, and he can't see his face from behind the mask and hood. Social clues are out then – _oh wait_, he thinks, _this is Keith. What sort of social clues was I expecting?_

"Can you ta -- e shot?" Shiro's cutting out now; maybe there's interference from the fire-fight they're engaging in outside the facility? "Lance? If y --n't take the shot, we need to – " There's a fizz of feedback that makes Lance wince, and across the way he can see Keith do the same. Then there's… nothing.

"Shiro?" Lance tilts his head, a subconscious gesture. Like _that's_ gonna do anything. Keith is staring at him from across the way, ducking to the side as a particularly violent shot clips the wall he's leaning behind. "Shiro? Come in. Keith, do you read Shiro? Anyone?"

"No." Keith appears to take a breath to collect himself. "Lance, get your tight ass over here and take the shot. We're on our own and we need to do this before we all get killed." 

Lance grins, gripping his Bayard rifle. "_Tight ass_? Baby, why didn't you say so? I got – "

There's a sudden blur of purple neon light, and Lance feels the heat from the blast as it grazes past his collarbone. The concussive impact against the wall next to him knocks off his helmet, the blast just grazing his arm and shoulder, and pushes him on his ass in an untidy heap. 

Holy.

Fucking.

Hell.

That was far too close.

Lance is conscious. Okay, so that's a good thing. Yes. He pulls himself upright. He can see Keith across the way, on his haunches, ready to launch himself through the crossfire and over to Lance. He manages to wave his hand: an emphatic 'no' gesture at Keith. 

He takes a second to catalogue things. No comm: right, no helmet, no comm. No idea what the fuck is going on either in the factory or outside in space. Ringing in his ears. A little dizzy; not good. Okay, the dizziness is clearing. Shoulder; possibly bleeding, hurts like a son of a bitch. Worry about that later. Head, apparently bleeding, but that could be just a cut, hard to tell right now.

He pushes upright, staggers to his feet, blinks a couple of times, and yes, the dizziness is passing so that's good. He summons the bayard, looks both ways (because getting hit with one of those blaster shots, not a top ten on the list any more, no way), and launches himself across the open space, dodging like it's Iverson on his heels and he's about to get expelled from the Academy.

He gets about a foot away, and Keith lunges forward, grabbing his wrist and reeling him in. Keith falls backward against the wall, and Lance lands almost on top of him. Lance is pressed against Keith, back to Keith's front, and he glances over his shoulder. Keith's removed his mask and hood, and is saying something, but Lance has no idea what it is; his hearing is gone for the moment, sounds are fuzzy at best.

"I can't hear you," Lance says. He feels stupid, like maybe he's overtalking? Is he making stupid faces because he can't actually hear what he's saying? Is he talking out loud at all?

Keith rolls his eyes and the familiar gesture soothes a little of Lance's panic. If Keith's doing something like rolling his eyes, it means things can't be that bad, right? 

Keith's suddenly reeling him in by the (damaged) neck of his paladin armour, then switches his grip to Lance's waist, holding him tightly as another violent explosion rocks the platform nearby. Lance risks a peek to the side; he's still got a job to do, and he's gotta get with the program, fast.

He crouches down, Keith moving with him, both of them getting behind as much cover as they can. He can feel Keith's breath against the edge of his suit, along his neck, feels the way it hitches a little and his arm tightens around Lance's waist, steadying him. Keith's saying something; he can't make it out, ears still buzzing from the concussive shot earlier. Whatever Keith is saying makes him sound like he's underwater, the sounds not realizing into actual words that Lance can understand. He feels Keith tap him on his hip, and _that's_ something Lance wasn't expecting; a fizzle of heat down his spine, his body taking a sudden interest in Keith's gesture, despite the pain in his shoulder and the potential head injury. Maybe it's because of the head injury, because Lance sure as hell doesn't have a thing – isn't going to have a thing – for Keith Kogane, outside of maybe the occasional late night jerk off material when he's stressed. Keith's his rival and –

Keith shakes him again, enough for Lance to man up and turn to the side enough to lock eyes with him. The world has gone silent suddenly, the ringing noise fading away. Despite the flaming explosions, the ricochet of blaster shots around them, the falling debris – Lance can hear none of that, but he is focused on Keith's mouth enough that he can just make out the quick nod, the lick of his lips, and the mouthed "I got you," emphasized enough for Lance's addled brain to understand. He nods back, grips the Bayard and feels it morph into the rifle. Locks it against his shoulder. Lets Keith lean them carefully to the side, supporting Lance's weight against him, steadying him to take the shot.

Because despite Lance being slightly shot up, and maybe concussed, and definitely bleeding, and unable to hear dick shit, Keith still believes that Lance can take the shot. 

Keith believes in Lance.

Keith is a stupid idiot, ‘cause Lance doesn't trust himself, really, and isn't even sure _he's_ gonna pull this off, but hey, positivity is a thing and yes, he's definitely concussed, holy shit. So Lance leans, trusting Keith has his skinny ass supported and, without blinking, lines up the rifle, takes a split-second to parse all the details, and

Takes

The

Fucking

Shot.

There's an explosion. It's a big one: Keith's arm is like a steel vice as he pulls Lance in behind cover and curls over them both, hands over his head as debris rains down around them. The ground shakes like a mofo, but the world is still silent to Lance's ears, and _that_ is a trip in itself. When Keith uncurls he is shouting; Lance can see a thin line of blood over his cheekbone, probably from flying debris, but he seems mostly unhurt. Lance goes with the flow, goes with Keith hauling his sorry ass back toward the doorway where Lance originally came in. Except now there's not really a corridor; there's a wide open gash in the side of the facility, open to space, with the entirety of that vast vacuum of nothing that Lance is fully aware that space actually is. They are dead men still standing.

They are dead men until there's a red lion hovering there, suddenly, right in front of them. And next to Red, there's the Blue Lion. He grins, despite the nagging aches and pain, and the blood, and the fact he can't hear anything and the fact that the entire space factory behind them is collapsing into a shower of explosions and debris and…

Keith grabs his arm, jerks him forward with a toss, and they are falling. Free falling, floating, towards the open mouth of the Red Lion, Blue roaring defiance at the facility burning behind them. Lance crumples as soon as Keith hauls them inside Red: Keith runs for the cockpit, keen to get to the fire fight and get the escape under way. Lance lays there, inside Red's mouth for a moment, and then drags himself to his feet. He totters his way up the ramp, very aware that things aren't going to go well for him if Keith decides to fire the mouth laser thingy, and gets himself inside and into the cockpit. Keith's already hauling back on the levers, turning Red around, and Lance glances over, out the window, where he can see Blue, keeping pace beside them. He can feel the psychic tug at the back of his mind; a sort of mental prod to check in on him, and then Lance's body decides it's really had enough, thanks very much.

So that's how Lance McClain ends day 245 in space: crumpled on the floor next to the Red Lion's pilot's chair, watching the stars swirl outside the window as he fades out of consciousness.

He does _not_ faint, because fainting is for losers.

He's merely taking a timeout from consciousness.

* * *

Close calls aside, Lance feels marginally better now that he's out of the healing pod and he's got a couple of days between today and what he's affectionately dubbed as _The Mission from Hell_. He's managed a nice hot shower, he's exfoliated, and now he's carefully applying a little moisturizer, because the vacuum of space really dries out the skin. Since they've been in space he's taken to moisturizing nightly, because god knows what that is going to do to his skin long term and Lance has an image to uphold. He leans forward, running his fingers over his hairline on the left side of his temple. He can just make it out; a thin scar, about two inches long. A nice souvenir from the facility Keith just tossed his ass out of. If he ruffles his bangs a little and goes for the 'messy but hot' look, it won't even be visible. 

The pod has cured most of his aches and pains, the bruises and cuts are gone, but his body still holds the mental afterimage of the fight: it knows it _should_ be injured, and even if it no long physically is, his mind can't let go of that yet. So Lance aches like a son of a bitch; his head and shoulder still hurts and he wants to sleep for a week.

What he needs is a nice mug of warm milk. And what do you know? He _can have one_ because, despite everything else the damn universe has thrown at them recently, they have a cow. With actual milk. Ha!

Lance pulls on a t-shirt and a pair of sweats, pushes his feet into his lion slippers, and wanders off down the corridor toward the kitchen. 

They've upgraded room assignments recently, mainly because Pidge had discovered a whole section of the castle set up specifically to receive diplomats, and there are suites of rooms. Suites. Of. Rooms. Just lying empty and unused. Hell to the yeah and empty no longer. No more bedroom the size of an Ikea crate. No more walking down the corridor to the communal showers. No more listening to Hunk snore on the other side of the wall and Pidge trying to kill minions in _Killbot Phantasm_ two doors down at three am in the morning.

Allura doesn't seem to mind that the Paladins have started to spread themselves out in the castle. They've been here for months now; no use pretending that they aren't here to stay, to pretend that this is temporary. They've all finally bonded as a team, they can form Voltron at will. Sure, there was some adjustment when Keith decided to step down and go full time with the Blade, but they've come out of it okay, Lance thinks. He misses Blue like crazy, but now he's got a nice little red ride instead that has a magma beam and a plasma cannon just for shits and giggles, not to mention a jaw blade and a tail laser.

Lance makes it to the kitchen, heats up some milk, and then decides to head to the lounge to see if anyone is around, although that's questionable because it's about...actually, he has no idea what time it is because Altean time concepts are complicated. The only indicator that it must still be very early is that the castle lights are a dim blue, signifying that the night cycle is still on.

When Lance walks into the lounge, Pidge is already there. "Oh hey, was just gonna come looking for you," she says, stifling a yawn. "Kolivan just showed up with Keith and they're calling a general meeting in the main conference room."

That sounds serious, Lance thinks. But hey, on the other hand, _Keith_. A perfect opportunity to get a couple of verbal hits in in person. "Cool. Can I bring my milk?"

Pidge eyeballs Lance's mug and then fixes him with a steely eyed expression. "I don't know, can you?" she says sarcastically.

By the time they reach the conference room Allura is there, chatting with the ever intimidating Kolivan, current leader of the Blade of Marmora. Shiro stands next to them, arms crossed and looking like he got even less sleep than normal (which is saying something) and just to one side is Keith, hovering like he's not sure which group he should align himself with. Hunk rolls in last, sleep shirt crinkled and his usual chirpy attitude less than present. Yep, Team Awesome are looking… way less than awesome.

Lance slides himself in next to Hunk and pats him on the shoulder. "Buddy, I feel you," Lance says sympathetically. "I want to go back to bed."

"I want to go home," Hunk sighs. "Any idea what's going on?"

"Not a damn clue."

Kolivan breaks off his conversation with Allura and clears his throat. This apparently is a universal sign for everyone to shut up and sit down, Lance notes, watching as the Princess slides gracefully into the chair at the head of the table. Kolivan sits to her right, and Shiro close to the rest of the Paladins. Keith finally plonks his ass down somewhere in the middle.

"Well, if it isn’t my favourite _Babe_ of Marmora," Lance needles in a stage whisper. 

"Shut the fuck up, _sharpshooter_," Keith retorts. There's no real heat to the insults, it's just how they both roll these days. "I saved your ass a few days ago, remember. You owe me."

"You threw me out of the side of a ship and into space! I owe you nothing."

This time Allura clears her throat, a lot more delicately than Kolivan, but it still quietens every one down. "Thank you all for arriving promptly despite the early hour," she begins. "Kolivan is here because he has approached me with a matter of grave urgency that he feels the Paladins would be suited to help with. I would ask you all to hear him out before making any decisions, either individually or as a team."

Okay, so _that_ sounds ominous. Lance raises an eyebrow and glances at Pidge and Hunk, who both shrug back. Keith just looks stoic; alarmingly blank-faced, like he knows what is coming next, and that has Lance's hackles rising instinctually.

Kolivan nods to Allura, and then stands up, apparently preferring to pace the room while he speaks. "I am here to formally request assistance from the Paladins of Voltron," he begins, facing the room and making eye contact with each of them. "As you know, the Blade work to gain information that will be useful in taking down the Galra Empire from within." Another loaded pause, as if Kolivan is mentally sorting through what he can share and what he chooses not to. "A couple of movements ago, we sent a Blade operative down to the planet Falos, with the intent to gather information. We believe Falos to be important; it was one of the first planets conquered by the fledgling Galra Empire shortly after its founding, approximately ten-thousand Deca-Phoebs ago. Unfortunately," Kolivan continues, - and there it is, thinks Lance, the 'unfortunately' part where everything goes down the chute – "Unfortunately, we have been unable to obtain the information we require to complete our objective."

"Too dangerous?" Shiro asks. It's a reasonable assumption.

"No, it would appear that the information we are looking for is not accessible either remotely or via hacking the government mainframe. We have tried."

"Doesn't sound like you're doing it right," Pidge deadpans. "_Everything_ is accessible in some form or other in the digital world."

"And what if is not digitally stored but, we suspect, might only be held on paper. I believe this has been done as a protective measure." Kolivan's words are dropped carefully into the room, but are no less profound than if Kolivan had shouted them.

"That – that is utter genius," Pidge blurts out, leaning forward. "What the hell are they hiding?"

Hunk lets out a breath, leaning back in his chair. "Ten points to the Galra Empire for coming up with that idea. Wow."

Kolivan returns to his chair, sitting down and steepling his fingers together in a rather human gesture. He pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. "We must move forward. We wish to request your assistance on Falos, Paladins of Voltron."

"What is it that you are requesting exactly, Kolivan?" Allura asks. "I will not risk valuable team members. If we cannot form Voltron, all our plans will be for naught and the universe will be, once again, unprotected."

Lance takes a moment to watch Keith while the higher ups duke it out. Keith is looking straight ahead, cheekbones slightly flushed. Lance watches him bite his lip, worry at it. His body language is stiff, contained, quite unlike his normal laid back attitude. It takes Lance a moment to realize that for some reason, Keith is invested heavily in the outcome of this meeting. It takes a few seconds but Keith must feel Lance staring at him. Lance expects Keith to turn and scowl, or make a biting comment, instead he flushes guiltily, eyes going wide for a moment as he catches Lance's gaze. 

It suddenly hits Lance – a bit like a freight train, granted – that Keith is _blushing_. At Lance. 

Holy crap. This is new.

It's then that Lance catches the tail end of Kolivan's statement, belatedly tuning back in to the conversation.

"We thought that sending Lance down to the planet with Keith as his bonded alpha mate would be a good plan. The Falosians are very – "

"Wait, _what_?" Lance blurts out. "Back up a second, I seem to have missed some of this." Lance's heart rate feels like it just accelerated to warp speed; no wonder Keith was blushing like a twelve year old school girl just now. 

Pidge snorts. "Yeah, _Lance_, if you weren't staring at your boyfriend you might have caught the important bits of the conversation. Like you and Keith, sitting in a tree, S – U – C – K – I --"

"Pidge!" Shiro barks. "Let's tone it down a little. Lance has a right to be surprised by this information, and Kolivan owes him an explanation for his reasoning. Yes?" Shiro turns to Kolivan, raising an eyebrow. 

To be honest, Lance is glad to see Shiro exhibiting his Alpha status, looking out for the pack. He doesn't pull the Pack Alpha card often, but when he does, it's something to watch. And admire. Keith, as secondary alpha, merely sits there like a stone, silently supporting the pack dynamic without adding to the conversation.

"I was not staring. Keith was acting weird, that's all! And anyway, when did we decide it was okay to start outing everyone's secondary gender to strangers? No offence, Kolivan," Lance adds.

"Guys, let's move on." Shiro's got his dad voice on now, and even Lance can admit it's effective as hell. It quietens the room down, anyway. "Kolivan, please give us your thoughts on the infiltration plan, should we agree to proceed."

Kolivan looks stony faced, a bit like he cannot wait to get the hell out of the room and is trying not to show it. "As I was saying, simple infiltration won't work. Blade missions usually require simply getting in, getting the required information, and getting out. I believe that we need to finesse this a little more than usual; it would be in everyone's interests to put a team undercover for a short period of time, maybe a couple of movements, and see what we can dig up."

"That would sound like a reasonable goal," Allura agrees. "If you can prove that the end goal would be worth the disruption to Team Voltron."

Kolivan nods. "All Blade – except for Keith – look like Galra. We will not be able to blend in, since the people of Falos mostly govern themselves under Galra rule. Apart from the Governor, who is Galra, and his staff, everyone on planet is native." Kolivan pauses to let this sink in. "The Falosians are remarkably similar in appearance to your average human, enough that it would be easy for a small team of two to blend in. They also exhibit secondary genders much as humans do, however their customs are a little less… forgiving, shall we say, than yours appear to be. If you chose to take the mission, you will have to abide by these customs if we are to succeed."

"That sounds dangerous and still very vague," Hunk says. "What exactly are you implying?"

"Ah, all omegas are bite-bonded," Keith says softly, glancing quickly at Lance and then away, embarrassment written clearly across his face, along with a heavy blush.

For a second Lance is rendered speechless, partly because during the briefing Keith has been so quiet he almost forgot he was present. It takes a hot minute for Keith's words to sink in.

"What?! That's… that's barbaric," Lance cries. "Most humans haven't done that for centuries!" He places a hand over the nape of his neck, hiding the scent gland at the base. It's purely instinctual behavior, and sends a shiver down his spine that's not wholly unpleasant, although he's not going to look at that reaction too closely for the time being.

"Welp, I think I'm done here," Hunk declares, pushing his bulk up from the table. "I'm going to make some warm milk. Anyone want one? Lance, you want another?"

"I'll have one." Shiro perks up a little, especially when Keith nods hesitantly as well. 

"I'll come help," Pidge says with a chirpy wave. "I can read a room and this secondary gender shit is about to get _awkward_, oh my god. Good luck, loverboy. Us betas will be in the kitchen, employing avoidance tactics." She actually has the gall to make finger guns at Lance as she backs out of the room.

"Wait! Pidge, come back, don't leave me with these vultures." Lance sighs, watching as Pidge and Hunk leave, the door sliding shut behind them with a smooth _whooshing_ sound. 

When he turns back, everyone in the room is watching him. "Um, guys?" Lance asks hesitatingly. "As much as I love the attention, this is really weird. Please explain why the hell you can't send Shiro down there with Keith? Regardless of secondary gender, they work well together under stress. Alphas have to work together in the best interest of the pack. _Our_ pack." It's a tough admission for Lance to make, but Keith and Shiro do make a good team. They always have done.

"I'm far too recognizable," Shiro says. The comment is directed at Lance as an explanation, but he's addressing the entire room. "Most of the important people in the Galra Empire have seen me fight as the Champion at one time or another. And the arm sort of gives it away." Shiro smirks and wiggles his fingers on his prosthesis. 

"Point taken," Lance admits. 

"I can do this." Keith glances up from the table. His voice is quiet, a little gravelly, but the tone of it is what catches Lance's attention. His voice is low, a little private, as if he's trying his hardest to put Lance at ease but to also make him understand. "I can protect you, Lance, while we are down there. I mean, not that you need protecting or anything, but if you did, I could – can – do it." Keith is struggling, oh my god, and Lance has half a mind to let him continue, because if this wasn't such serious shit this would be hilarious.

Lance bites his lip and looks away. Keith's expression is embarrassed, but open, like he wants Lance to understand.

"We need you, Lance. We can't do this without you."

Now, that's an admission he's likely to never get out of Keith again.

Lance knows at this point that he's fucked. Supremely. It's not like he can say no. Well, he can, but then he's letting down half the universe at the very least.

"Okay, so what's the deadline on this?" he says eventually. "How soon do we go?"

"As soon as possible. Within the next couple of days, ideally," Kolivan adds. "The Falosians have their annual spring festival and we can use that to our advantage; they'll be distracted with the celebrations."

Lance bites his lips, gives himself a quick second to center himself and then nods. "Okay, I'm in."

Keith's face breaks out into – holy shit, is that a smile? Yep, he's smiling. Shiro looks a little relieved and Kolivan actually looks like he might be smiling too, if Galra actually do. Lance isn't sure. Anyway. 

Looks like shit is about to get really real, and Lance is going to be right in the thick of it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Keith finally bond. (And it turns out evolution likes to reward those that cooperate, oh yes).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might have been an incredible amount of fun to write, and to spend a number of hours with my gf discussing how omega/alpha bonds would work and what evolution might do to encourage this. :)
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left me comments and kudos! Such a nice welcome to the fandom and the pairing, thank you. *hugs*

"So, gonna fill me in on the outcome?" Hunk says. He flops back into a bean bag chair, and picks up the chips he'd been eating before Lance knocked on his door. 

"Where did you get the chips from?" Lance blurts out, darting forward to grab one. He takes a bite; it's almost like a banana chip, but it tastes a little woodsier with maybe a hint of… cinnamon? "If this had salt on it, this would be freaking awesome," Lance says around a mouthful. 

Hunk fixes Lance with a bland look. "You are a heathen, Lance McClain, and I made them from stuff we picked up on that last little market moon we stopped at. Pull up a beanbag, my man, and tell me what happened after Pidge and I beat a quick retreat from the conference room. Did Keith implode?"

"You noticed that too, huh." Lance throws himself into one of the other bean bag chairs and wiggles around until he's comfortable, tilting back slightly to stare at the ceiling for a moment. He closes his eyes, trying to put his thoughts in order, and then he feels a slight pressure on the tip of his nose. He blinks his eyes open. "Why is there a Cinnana chip on my nose?" Lance asks perfectly seriously.

"A cin-what?"

"Cinnamon banana chip," Lance replies, as if this is perfectly normal to randomly name space snacks like this. "Why is it on my nose?" Lance goes cross-eyed staring at it.

Hunk bellows with laughter. "I was gonna see if you could maybe pull off that dog trick, where you toss your head back and pop the snack, and then swallow it."

"My tongue is not that long," Lance deadpans, plucking off the snack and eating it before Hunk decides its forfeit. "And I have better things to do with my tongue."

"So, Keith," Hunk says with a wink.

"Did you just segue into that with a dirty insinuation, Garrett?" Lance sits back up and crosses one leg over his knee at the ankle. "Cause you are gonna have to bargain with the good stuff if you want info."

Hunk keeps his eyes on Lance, grin tugging at the edge of the mouth, as he leans back in the bean bag chair and reaches behind him. After a few seconds he pulls out a tall, thin bottle made of aqua blue glass and puts it on the floor between them. It has a cork stuffed in the top, but it sticks out halfway in a sort of innocent, yet menacing way.

Lance sits up and leans forward, staring at it, eyebrow raised. "Is that what I think it is?"

"And what do you _think_ it is?"

"I think that that is either the very bottle, or a bottle very similar, to the one that Shiro picked up at the space mall liquor store last time we dropped by. The very liquor that we all shared the night we tried to teach Euchre to Coran and Allura with a set of Marekeshian fortune telling cards because nobody had a pack of regular cards, and Keith kept trying to convince everyone loudly and drunkenly that the Devil's Asshole card was actually the left bower. _That_ is what I think that is."

Hunk nods and then bursts into laughter. "You would be one hundred percent correct, my man. Oh my god, I forgot about the whole left bower thing. That was absolutely epic. We need to get Pidge to hack into the security cams and download that footage. I'm sure we can use it for blackmail with Keith at some point."

"Ah, shit," Lance says, wiping a tear away. "That is a brilliant idea."

"Okay, so, exhibit A, the good stuff. Spill the beans on your omega-fest." Hunk pops the cork on the bottle and passes it to Lance, who takes a small swig, because the last time he took a large swig of this stuff it had ended in literal tears. It still feels like he's been kicked in the face by an angry moose.

Lance coughs a little and passes the bottle to Hunk. "Well, it basically boils down to the fact I get to take a trip down to a planet that has zero digital access to archives in order to break and enter with my alpha-plus-one. Shiro is too recognizable which leaves Keith and me, because they want to leave you tech genius types here in case of trouble."

Hunk stares Lance down a little, pondering for a moment. Hunk's always had the ability to see right through Lance's bullshit, and he doesn't hesitate to get right down to it now. "And you are okay with the bite-bond thing? Cause you didn’t look like it earlier."

Lance sighs, snatches back the bottle, and takes a larger swig. The first mouthful has settled nicely like warm agreement in his stomach, mellowing him out a little. It's still hard to resist the need to put his hand over his nape, to protect his scent glands. "I'm… I know Keith has my back; we're a team. It's just… how do I explain?" He sinks back in the chair and crosses his ankle over his leg again. "For omegas, the scent gland on the back of our neck – it's a vulnerable area, highly sensitive to touch. It's definitely an erogenous zone. So to be claimed, you have to let someone in close, ideally, you have to trust them."

"But you trust Keith?"

"I do." Lance doesn't even have to think about that. "But society has sort of built up the whole bite-bond thing as barbaric and taboo, and I've never really examined how I feel about it personally, I guess, because it has never been an issue."

"Makes sense." Hunk takes the bottle back and takes a sip. "And this is a one-way bite then?"

"Yeah, he's gonna… uh," Lance swallows, because he can feel the warm blush spread across his cheekbones and it's not entirely due to the alcohol, "Uh, _claim_ me by bruising up the scent gland until it leaves a mark. It'll also subtly change my scent so I smell different, less enticing to any alpha who won't be my alpha, um, so basically only Keith."

Hunk clears his throat deeply. "Uh, okay. I mean, I sorta knew that? I mean, like, not in depth, but, it kinda makes sense?" He takes another swig of alcohol and thrusts it back at Lance, trying to work through the awkward. "And er, a two-way bite is a full on claiming of the omega – a mated pair. Which you are absolutely _not_ doing."

"Absolutely not. No way," Lance confirms. "The claiming bite Keith will give me should fade after a week or so, two at max."

"You aren't gonna go into heat are you?"

Lance snorts. "Stop giving me the side-eye. You know they put everyone on suppressants at the Garrison. They're good for like, five years. Besides, omegas don't go into heat unless they feel safe and are 'home', so no chance of that."

Hunk hums. "Just checking. Shit happens, man. This is space."

There's a brief pause in the conversation that stretches out, and Lance is keen to not think about the ramifications of what he's going to allow Keith to do tomorrow – partly because he doesn't want to pop a semi in front of a good friend. It would be inappropriate, to say the least. "Let's go up to the training deck and see if our reflexes are better with the space mall wine," Lance suggests.

"Good idea. Bring the bottle," Hunk adds, sliding from his bean bag chair.

* * *

Lance is keyed up even before Keith steps through the door to his suite of rooms. Maybe it's the fact that this is Keith, and that what they are going to do next is basically taboo – that Lance is going to allow himself to be claimed, to be branded with the mark of Keith's ownership. That at some point this evening Lance is going to present himself, to expose the soft nape of his neck, and that Keith is going to take whatever he wants. That Keith is going to purposely let his alpha side out to play, to set it free rather than to keep it locked under tight control. 

Lance hates to admit it, but it yanks his chain hard; he had no idea that he'd ever find the thought of being marked up by an alpha to be exciting, but the fact is that Lance's omega side is already interested, regardless of how Lance's brain feels logically about the whole thing.

Because there's also the whole part about what happens afterward: there's the mission itself. The undercover portion. The part where not only do they have to complete mission objectives together, as a team, but they have to play at being bonded mates. It's almost laughable really. Lance really does believe Keith is a good leader, and he's happy to take his cues from him on this mission. Lance himself has never done undercover work; he's the talker, the charmer, not the guy that operates from the shadows. So he's going to have to place a great deal of trust in Keith, and try not to let feelings happen in the meantime, because he knows himself. He knows that Keith is absolutely his type; dark, moody and brilliant with a blade. But now, after last night in the conference room, Lance has seen another side to Keith; a part that is partially vulnerable, a part that is soft and blushes, a side of Keith that had assured Lance that he would take care of him, watch over him on the mission. And that had really hit Lance hard in the feels department. 

Yep, there's no doubt about it. This mission is going to be hell; he's got to spend a week or so sharing living space and a bed with a man he could very easily fall for hard.

Quiznak.

Lance runs his hand through his hair and stands there, hands on hips. He knows he's overthinking this whole thing. When Keith walks through that door, it will be like free-falling; jumping out of a plane without a parachute, completely beyond any sort of experience he's had in the past, sexual or otherwise.

And so here he is: standing in the middle of his rooms, freshly showered, in his best pair of sweat pants and a casual shirt he'd spent well over an hour finally picking out (because he's not going into this looking like a slob, Lance McLain doesn't do slob, thank you very much) and trying the fuck not to panic like a virgin schoolgirl. 

There's a knock on the panel outside the door. 

Yep, it's happening. He's going to panic like a virgin schoolgirl after all. (He's gonna owe Hunk ten GAC's next time they are in port, dammit.)

The door slides open, and Keith steps into the room, blinking a little as his eyes adjust from the bright glare of the hallway to the much dimmer pale blue mood lighting Lance had selected earlier.

"Lance, you okay?" Keith must pick up something in Lance's aura or whatever, because he takes a couple of steps forward, fingers brushing against Lance's wrist to get his attention.

Lance snaps out of his daze at the touch, focusing on Keith. "Oh, hey man. Sorry, I zoned a little." He lets his gaze wander; Keith is wearing a baggy shirt, the neck stretched out from too many washings, and a pair of obscenely tight leggings. He looks his usual self, but a little softer, less the assassin, more the lover. Maybe that's what he intended; to make Lance feel a little more at ease and it seems to be working. 

"How do you want to do this?" Keith asks softly. 

Lance hesitates. Where the hell did his game go? "Um, to be honest I have no idea how this works, outside of a basic understanding that I need to er, be aroused for the bite to take." There, he's said it, got _that_ out in the open without dying of embarrassment or awkwardness. 

Keith flushes a little, and licks his lips, lidded gaze dropping to Lance's lips and then back up to meet his eyes. _Holy shit_, Lance thinks, _that's erotic_. He can feel the air tighten around them, feels it like an electric touch, ozone before a thunderstorm, a hint of iron in the air.

"Come on." Keith holds out his hand, waiting for Lance, and for want of anything else to do, Lance places his hand in Keith's and lets himself be led over to the circle of sunken couches in the middle of the living space. Keith steps down, tugging Lance with him, and settles into a bank of soft pillows on one couch. He releases Lance's hand, lets Lance chose to move toward him – or not. 

Lance settles on the edge of the couch, close to Keith's feet where they are tucked onto the couch, not quite ready to move closer yet. "So, um," Lance starts, running his hand through his hair a little. He's super conscious of not touching his neck, not wanting to draw attention to it yet. And yeah, he's being super eloquent here. This is basically just about as awkward as his conversation with Hunk yesterday, but without the excuse of an alcoholic fog. 

"Ask whatever you want," Keith guesses. "Then we'll do this when you are comfortable."

Now it's Lance's turn to blush; to feel the heat crawl over his cheeks. They are two grown men; this is utterly ridiculous. He takes a deep breath. Fuck it, he's just gonna ask. "So, when you do the bite thing, just how far is this gonna go?"

Keith smirks, eyes still hooded, watching Lance carefully like he's… prey, maybe. It sends a shiver down Lance's spine, and Keith knows it, judging by the look on his face, the way his gaze sharpens momentarily before returning to the safe, watchful gaze of before. "You mean am I going to fuck you?" Keith asks.

"No!" Lance splutters. His fingers find the hem on his shirt, twisting the fabric. He stares at his hand for a moment, cursing himself because his smooth and collected alter ego appears to have left the building. "Okay, yes, I guess that is what I'm asking." Wow, eloquent, Lance.

"Do you want me to?" Keith asks, leaning forward slightly. His bare feet curl into the couch cushions as he shifts, gets comfortable again, and he crosses his legs at the ankle, hands curled into his lap loosely.

Lance hesitates. For a moment he's out of his depth completely, doesn't know how to answer. Normal Lance would scoff, make some offhand scathing comment and then leave the room, leaving Shiro to deal with the fallout as pack Alpha. Right now he's not sure if Keith's messing with him or if he's honestly curious as to Lance's reply. It's clear that Keith's dropped some of the control he has on his alpha side already, because Lance can feel it, a frisson in the room, the way he's second guessing himself, wondering what his alpha thinks and _whoa_ – Keith is absolutely _not_ his alpha, so okay McClain, get it together and function like a modern human being here. 

Except – in a matter of hours, maybe less, Keith _is_ going to be his alpha. And Lance is technically going to be Keith's property as far as the people of Falos view things.

"Lance?" Keith leans forward a bit more, frowning. He ducks his head down so he can see Lance's face better, since Lance is running avoidance and still staring at the hem of his shirt. "You know I'm just messing with you, right?" Keith says. He pokes Lance's leg with his foot, jostling him a little. "I would never do anything that would make you uncomfortable. I hope you realize that?"

Lance looks up, squares his jaw. "I know that. This is just… _really_ bizarre."

Keith laughs; a breathy, self-depreciating chuckle that reverberates almost like a purr. It makes the hair on the back of Lance's neck stand on end for a moment, before his body assimilates it into a warmth that settles in his belly. Oh great, he's going to have no problem with the whole arousal part of the program, he thinks.

"Okay, so can I kiss you?" Keith asks.

Lance's brain goes blank. Because yes, that is a really good idea. "You want to kiss me, because….?" Lance asks. Not that he is adverse to the idea, hell no.

"I just thought it might ease us into this." Keith shrugs. He keeps eye contact with Lance, but slowly unfolds, leaning back against the cushions behind him, stretching his legs out but remaining wholly passive. Letting Lance choose to come to him.

Lance has to admit Keith paints a pretty picture like this, and it's almost a siren call. Lance is drawn in; he turns and climbs onto the sofa and crawls toward Keith. He's got to admit, it does things for his ego when Keith's eyes go wide and he swallows nervously, hands fluttering for a moment at his side, forcing himself to remain passive. 

Lance shifts, moving until his knees are straddling one of Keith's thighs, close enough to touch. Keith gives in, reaching out a hand to brush his knuckles gently against Lance's cheek, the gesture soft and almost worshipful. Lance feels his eyes flicker closed momentarily, and then there are soft, plump limps brushing against his. Lance sucks in a little breath as Keith kisses him again, another barely there brush of lips on his, and when Lance parts his, Keith deepens the kiss, tongue pushing in to explore. The hand on his cheek moves to the side of his neck, fingers settling heavy there, Keith's thumb stroking just by his ear. Lance lets out a little breathless noise, starting to return the kiss, because this he knows, he can do this part. His hands fists into the fabric of the couch either side of Keith's shoulders, and he feels Keith shift beneath him, just as he breaks the kiss to mouth along Lance's jaw. One of Keith's hands settle on his bare waist, squeezing a little, stroking down over his flank to his hip where his sweatpants ride low. He leaves nips and kisses all the way along Lance's jaw to his ear, breath hot, nosing close to Lance's scent gland but not close enough.

Lance lets out a little bitten off keening noise; it's embarrassing but he can't help himself, his body knows what it wants. It's completely betrayed him at this point; he's hard in his pants, achingly hard, which he's going to chalk up to hormones and will fight anyone on if he's asked. His scent glands feels a little itchy; it's not uncomfortable, but he can sense a change there.

Keith pulls back for a moment and looks over Lance, maybe mentally checking in to see where he's at. Keith shifts, and when Lance looks down he can see Keith's also getting hard, those damn leggings doing zero to hide anything.

Lance lets out a soft, breathless laugh. "Wow, who knew kissing would be that good, huh?"

"Shut up, sharpshooter, and get back here." There's no heat, no sign of aggravation in the words, but the sound of Keith's voice centers Lance a little, gives him something normal to focus on. Keith uses the hand on his hip to tug Lance forward, until Lance is straddling Keith's thigh properly, settling his weight there, a lot closer than before. Lance moves back in for another kiss; this time they both have a better idea of the other, and the kiss is a little more desperate, possessive, eager. Lance leans into the kiss, hand fisting in Keith's thick hair, the other slipping under his baggy shirt, wanting to get his hands on that lean, toned flesh he's spied during training and in the showers.

Keith takes that as permission to do the same, and then his hand is sliding up Lance's skin, tracing over his spine, dragging blunt nails down Lance's back. Lance arches, breath stuttering as the position forces his hips to roll forward, his hard cock rubbing against the muscle of Keith's abs and sending sparks of pleasure through him at the friction.

"Fuck," Lance bites out into the kiss, and he can feel the smirk on Keith's lips as he kisses him again, repeats the movement, until Lance gets the hint and lets his hips rock forward, grinding at will. Keith's doing the same, Lance's knee between his thighs, hips ticking forward. It's a spiral of pleasure; getting tighter, but this isn't what they are here for, even if it feels incredible, more intoxicating that Lance ever thought something could be. He doesn't want to stop, but he's got to get a lid on this –

He pulls back, and _oh god_, the sight of Keith, flushed and hard, breath coming unsteady, eyes glassy with desire, that's definitely going straight in Lance's spank bank for later. Jesus fucking Christ. Lance has got to get a grip; they are friends – sometimes only bad friends – and this is a place they never agreed to go, mission or not.

"Don't space out on me, cadet," Keith says, pulling Lance closer until they are chest to chest. "I need you hard for me." 

_Oh shit_. That is something Lance had no idea he was ever going to find hot; Keith ordering him to stay aroused.

Keith releases him suddenly after one final, dirty kiss. "Take your shirt off, show me what you got for me." 

Yep, Keith's alpha side is definitely out to play. Or maybe he's just bossy in bed. Lance is curious as to which one it is. 

Lance leans back, shifts a little, watches Keith's eyes, heavy lidded with pleasure. He reaches down, fingering the hem of his shirt, notes how Keith follows the gesture, hands tightening on Lance's hip in anticipation. Lance takes it slowly, basically because he's a little shit and he feels there should be fair play here. He shimmies a little as he drags the fabric over his head, and when he's clear of the shirt, Keith's mouth is parted, and he's licking his lips like Lance is dinner.

Keith is apparently really good for a man's ego, Lance decides with a smirk. Keith places his palm in the center of Lance's chest, the weight soothing, and drags his palm downward, stopping just shy of Lance's cock. Lance squirms a little, rocking his hips up. There's nothing subtle about the gesture; it's born of pure want, a need to be touched where he needs it the most.

And then suddenly Lance is flipped. His back is pressed firmly to Keith's chest, and he's sitting between Keith's legs, a mirror to how they were in the sentry factory a couple of days ago. Except now, he can feel the hard press of Keith's cock against the small of his back. Keith's lips graze so closely to his scent gland, and he growls in Lance's ear, "If this wasn't because of the mission, I would eat you alive right now."

Lance grabs at Keith's thigh to ground himself, and he honest to god whimpers. He's _never_ made a sound like that before.

Keith is nuzzling into his neck, placing small kisses along his nape and then lower down, making Lance shiver pleasantly. He wraps his arm tighter around Lance's waist, pulling him closer. "Which side do you want the bite on?" 

Keith's voice is husky, and Lance can feel a small tremor as Keith holds him closer. Is he turned on, or nervous? Maybe both? Perhaps Keith is just as nervous as Lance is: this is something neither one of them have ever contemplated doing because of its taboo nature. Lance isn't the only one flailing around in the dark here, Keith is as well. Keith is the one who stands to fuck this up more, Lance realizes; he's the one that will have to actually give the bite.

"T-the r-right side," Lance stutters, because he's thought about this. For some reason he just favours that side of his neck more. It would feel weird on the other side.

"'Kay. Your scent is really nice right here," Keith adds randomly, nuzzling in right over the gland. "It's a little addictive," he adds with a soft depreciating laugh.

"Feels nice," Lance replies, because it does. Slightly ticklish, but his arousal has his glands reacting; he can feel a slight almost zinging sensation in all of his scent glands, especially at his neck and on both wrists.

"Your scent's changed since our mission. It's like right now your body is trying to draw me in, like it wants me to do this." Keith licks over the scent gland and holy shit, Lance almost arches off the couch, body shuddering with almost orgasmic pleasure. He has no idea what Keith is talking about, Lance only knows that every time Keith licks or kisses at the gland it sends trills of electricity sliding down his spine to the base of his cock, his belly. 

He's utterly incapable of reacting at this point; he knows that, in a normal situation, this should worry him, this inability to function, his fight or flight switched off completely. Right now, at this moment, he is utterly Keith's, maybe more so than after when Keith has actually bitten him. It takes him precious seconds to realize that Keith's basically edging him, keeping him aroused, on the edge of being claimed.

"Keith, do it, please," Lance begs. "Stop fucking around. You're killing me here." Lance's words are slow like molasses. 

Keith shifts behind him, sitting up a little more. He fists one hand in Lance's hair, the other holding his bicep, keeping him steady as he tilts Lance's head to the side, exposing the back of his neck and shoulders completely.

Hot breath on Lance's neck. 

The electric rush of a kiss, placed right over his scent gland.

Lance drags in a shaky breath at the same time Keith's teeth graze over his gland, and then he bites down.

Lance knows it should hurt. He knows this because he can feel the vise-like pressure of Keith's teeth sinking in like a bruise into the gland, not letting go, the way Keith is worrying at the bite. He knows this but he can't focus, because the pleasure is so overwhelming he goes limp in Keith's arms, like a rag doll. The heat and pleasure rush together into a heady cocktail, racing down his spine, and with a surprised gasp Lance shatters, orgasms so hard he's pretty sure he blacks out for a moment. He can feel warmth, wet and sticky at the base of his spine; instinctively knows that Keith's also come as well, painting his lower back with yet another mark of ownership.

Time seems to slow, although the rush of pleasure remains, fizzing through his veins. He takes short, shallow breaths because if he takes deeper ones he might fly apart. He feels high; like he's drugged. Holy shit. Like he's flying through the cosmos at a million miles an hour, the stars simple blurs on either side of him. He can feel the pleasure crest again and he shudders through it; can feel Keith tighten his arm around Lance as he rides it out too.

There's a flash of light. A starburst. A supernova. Pictures and scenes seem to float through his head, whisked away just as quickly in a shallow panorama. He sees Keith, in the sun bleached desert, watching the sky. Keith on his bike, flying across the sand, dusty and arid wind in his hair. Lance sees himself, surrounded by family. Happy. Standing at a window in the castle in his blue paladin armour, watching the stars.

There's another flash and Lance blinks his eyes, opening them slowly. The room is still dim, ambient light a pale, calm blue. They are both slumped on the couch, Keith protectively pushing his face into Lance's neck, holding him tight. He hears Keith move, feels the hard muscles of Keith's torso shift against his back. He can feel Keith's hand on his belly, rubbing soothing circles.

"Did you – " Lance takes a fluttering breath. "Did you see that? Did you see the vision thing? Oh fuck I'm high," he babbles. "I feel so good, this can't be real. What the hell is going on?"

"Dunno," Keith slurs. "I'm high too. Shit. Fuck I could come again." He pauses. "Gonna kill Shiro for not mentioning this."

Lance tries to move, but it's like his brain is creating contrails in front of his eyes and his equilibrium took a vacation. There is no way in hell he can even sit up, let alone stand. He feels _ohsofuckinggood_, floating on a wave of pleasure that's settling into a really good buzz, but not really mellowing out yet. It's like his body wants to reward him with the best high ever for cooperating.

He wants to ask about the vision. He would if he could form real sentences rather than just one or two words at a time. It feels like this should be important; something they need to discuss. Had Keith seen the same thing or was this just a weird Lance thing?

"Fuck, you smell so good." Keith mouths at Lance's scent gland again, worrying the skin. It sends another hard pulse of pleasure through Lance but he doesn't come this time. Instead, he lets out a moan, which he can't contain, and rides the high, letting the feel of Keith's hard body pressed against him soothe and calm him.

_His alpha. _

Keith is his and he belongs to Keith for the time being.

Keith did this; made him feel so good.

Lance closes his eyes and succumbs to it all, lets it happen. Lets his omega take control for the first time ever. He floats; lets all his thoughts filter away until there is only sensation and pleasure, starting to even out into a manageable high where he can just… drift.

"Fuuuuuuck, I love day two hundred and forty nine," he mumbles happily, completely blissed out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again if you want to squeal at me you can find me on Tumblr as Caeseria. 
> 
> Also if anyone has recs or suggestions on where all the klance stuff is or people to chat with, please drop me a note on my tumblr or twitter!! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Keith deal with the morning after, and then it's time for final preparations before they hit planetside to start the mission.

Lance is warm. He's comfortable. There's definitely a certain hedonistic pleasure in lying in bed late, not having to get up, with the arms of your loved one wrapped around you…

"I didn't notice this last night," a sultry voice murmurs in Lance's ear, nuzzling into his neck. Knuckles sweep softly down Lance's abs, to the waistband of his sweat pants, and then back up again, fingers brushing over the belly piercing he has, and then sweeping back down his happy trail again. Like the happy trail suggests, it makes Lance very happy.

Right up until the last vestiges of his drugged up stupor evaporate and Lance gets the opportunity to fully wake up. 

A number of things immediately clamor for Lance's attention: one, he and Keith got hot and heavy in the make-out department and did what they were supposed to for the sake of the mission: namely, Lance is now a claimed omega. Two; both of them got super high from the aftereffects and Lance suspects this is one of the reasons why bonding is considered taboo. Three, Lance may have come in his pants. Keith may have also done the same, which is why Lance is currently stuck to his favourite pair of sweatpants and why – owwww – Keith is apparently stuck to Lance.

Oh my god. Keith is glued to Lance's back with his own come.

Why is this even –

"Lance? Are you okay?" Keith – _Lance's new alpha_ – sounds a little concerned.

Lance very much wants to go back to being warm and comfy. And happy. And hell, maybe a little high on the feel-good stuff. Instead, he lets out a slow breath, arches his back, and peels himself away from Keith slowly with a wince. Well, you know what they say: it's not been a good night unless you're stuck to the sheets in the morning.

"M'kay," Lance mutters. He wiggles around a little bit until he's pressed facing Keith's chest, in the circle of his arms. He curls his hand into Keith's shirt and reaches forward, nosing under Keith's chin until he can breathe in some of his intoxicating scent. Lance realizes that, on any other day, he would be halfway across the room and screaming by this point, but he simply can't persuade himself to move. Apparently, neither can Keith, because he's also nuzzling into Lance's scent gland, making a little sound of pleasure, and stroking a hand through his hair, worrying at the tangles until it lays smooth again.

"We should get up," Lance mumbles into Keith's neck. Keith's fingers in his hair feels _sooooo_ good, oh my god.

"Ah, okay." Keith pulls back a little, flushed, and licks his lips. He stares at Lance for a moment, his gaze coming back into focus. 

Lance can almost see the instant Keith realizes what he's doing – has been doing since they woke up; he goes stiff for a moment, and then forces himself to relax. He slowly pulls away.

Okay, so the warm and fuzzies have apparently worn off, Lance notes. Keith does _not_ appear to be a cuddler after all. In fact, he looks like he might be about to panic. If there's one thing Lance has learnt through hard experience, is that you don't mess with the team dynamic. Currently, Team Voltron does not boast Keith and Lance as a couple, and if Lance doesn't do something to balance things soon, it's going to have even less of a friendship dynamic than before. 

"We should shower," Lance announces. Dammit, Keith looks like he's going to have a coronary if he turns any redder. Damage control time. "Separately, of course."

"Right, of course," Keith says, sitting up and then staring down at his leggings. He seems to be taking a moment to consider things. "Uh, can I borrow your shower? I don't think I want to walk down the hallway –"

"Absolutely, yes, anything you want buddy," Lance rushes to assure him. "That's what friends do, yes. You can borrow pants. And water. And the soap and stuff. Hell, I will even let you use my moisturizer!" Lance manages to humiliate himself further by giving Keith finger guns. 

Finger.

Fucking.

Guns.

_Ohmygod_, why is this his life?

Keith is off the couch and in the bathroom before Lance gets an opportunity to observe that tight ass properly. 

Lance barely has a moment to flop back down with a deep sigh of disappointment, and then he can feel a subtle, but growing, anxiety radiating from the middle of his chest, just over his heart. The right side of the back of his neck, just over his trapezius muscle, where Keith bit him, starts to really ache – more so than the actual dull throbbing of the bruise had a moment ago.

The anxiety rises steadily, and he feels like he can't really get a proper lungful of air. 

Lance pulls in a shuddering breath: he's going to fucking suffocate if he doesn't get oxygen in the next few seconds.

The bathroom door is flung open. Steam rolls out, along with a very wet, naked Keith, clutching a small soapy washcloth over the important bits at the front. Lance thinks he may have died and gone to heaven, because this isn't shower room etiquette 101, this is _Keith_, in Lance's private space, naked. Etiquette can go fuck itself, Lance is damn well going to look, even if he’s going to die in the next few moments. 

In fact, Lance doesn't want to look: he wants to _touch_. That suffocating need is dragging him instinctively toward Keith, insisting he be in Keith's space, and Keith in his. As soon as Lance is within touching distance, Keith reaches out and snags Lance authoritatively around the nape of his neck, reeling him in and nuzzling against his scent gland while his other hand holds Lance in place, fingers tightening around his bicep. Lance's knees buckle for a second, because _oh shit_, there is something so hot about being manhandled by Keith, especially when he's got that look on his face and his lips are millimeters away from Lance's claiming bite.

Keith is hard.

Lance knows this because Keith pushes forward into Lance's space, brushing against his hip, and Lance tenses like he's been scalded, pulling back for a moment.

_Someone needs to be the voice of reason, here_, Lance's final brain cell chirps. _If you don't man up, Keith is going to get bossy again and go alpha and you are in very great danger of ending up on your back, legs spread and – _

"Ahhh, Keith," Lance starts, sliding a hand against Keith's very wet, very muscled pecs (Lance is going to die of lust, seriously, is that a thing even?), then adds, "I think what you're doing is more of that instinct thing." He pauses, because he really, really wants to surrender fully right now. He wants to get on his knees for this man, for his alpha, and he's having a hard time fighting it, especially this close to being claimed. His omega is a thirsty, thirsty, begging thing, wow. 

_Don't fail me now, last remaining brain cell._ Lance squeezes his eyes shut and tries to focus, to remain responsible. "Keith, this isn't something you actually want to do; not right now. This is your alpha taking control. You need to snap out of it."

Keith jerks backward when Lance's tone turns commanding. His gaze sharpens, frowning at Lance. Then he takes a deep, shuddering inhalation of air, a soft growl leaving his throat. Gently, he releases Lance and steps back, seeming to suddenly realize that he's naked. He flushes with embarrassment. "What – I – " Keith seems confused. "I felt like I couldn't breathe – I couldn't breathe unless I was near you," he adds.

"Same." Lance resists the urge to lean back into Keith's space with every fibre of his being. It's one of the toughest tasks he's ever set himself. His omega is not pleased, _hell no_. "Feel better now, now that there's less distance between us?" Lance asks, curious, pleading.

"Yeah, actually." Keith appears to consider things for a moment, gaze leaving Lance's and then flicking back, like he's embarrassed. "Um, I know this seems weird, but do you think you could, maybe, hang out here until I'm done? I think this is something to do with the claiming bite but we should check with Shiro. Maybe he'll know what's going on."

"Makes sense," Lance agrees. "Sure, I can wait, if you do the same for me while I shower?" He watches as Keith nods and then, after a momentary hesitation, gets back under the shower spray and closes the door. 

Lance bites his lip. That is a _fine_ ass, Jesus. "Are you sure you don't want some help? I'm told I'm good with my hands. And other… stuff."

"Oh my god," Keith bellows from behind the glass. "Do you ever stop?!"

Score one, Lance smirks, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter top. Team Awesome: almost back to normal. If Keith is annoyed, he doesn't have time to think about Lance's scent and trying to get in Lance's business. 

Right?

* * *

_Wrong_. 

Keith and Lance are officially Team Awkward. By the time they've showered (separately), changed clothes and Keith's in a pair of Lance's borrowed track pants and a spare shirt, the rest of the team are waiting for them in the lab. Keith and Lance make the journey there as quickly as possible; walking as close as they can without actually touching, although it makes Lance ache like crazy and a thin sheen of sweat gather at the base of his spine, his skin prickling with discomfort. Judging by Keith's tense jawline and clenched fists, he feels the same way.

The doors _swoosh_ open and both of them step into the room, stopping short when they are confronted by everyone. "Uh, hi," Lance offers with a hesitant wave.

"Ah!" Coran exclaims, "Here's the rest of the dream team at last!"

"Look, it's the honeymooners!" sasses Pidge. She sneaks around to Lance’s side and cranes her neck. "Oh and wow, dude, that is one hell of a hickey and bite mark. Keith, I'm impressed," she adds, waggling her eyebrows.

"Can it, shortstop," Lance says, waving his hand casually. Truth is, he feels about as far from casual as possible. He's on edge, he realizes, like everyone in the room is a potential threat, which is ridiculous. Plus, he can feel his face heating, and when he turns to Keith – well, to say Keith looks like he might have burst into flames would be a gross understatement. 

Keith stalks through the crowd and leans against one of the lab's counter tops. He crosses his arms and scowls. "Let's debrief and get this over with. Lance, are you coming?"

"Right." Lance strolls as quickly as he can, slotting himself against the counter so he's next to Keith. Yep. Being nonchalant. Both of them. Nothing to see here. Nobody's going to need to cuddle. No scenting. No nuzzling.

Keith actually seems to twitch, leaning toward Lance.

Lance wants to whine; he can feel the sound building in the back of his throat. _Holy fuck_. "Okay, so we have a massive problem," Lance blurts out. "Something happened after the bite and I think we must have done something wrong bec- "

"Why didn't you tell me this shit was going to happen, Shiro?" Keith interrupts, uncrossing his arms long enough to point a finger. "Why can't Lance and I be more than a few feet apart without feeling like we're going to have an anxiety attack? Aren't you supposed to know this shit as pack Alpha?"

Shiro looks baffled. Honest to god confused, which sets off alarm bells in Lance's head. "Sorry, Keith, Lance. I had no idea." Shiro raises both hands in a calming gesture. "Claiming and bonding bites have been taboo for so long in most human cultures that the knowledge about how they work has been mostly lost. There's no longer a guidebook for this type of thing, or any sort of spoken and retained history on the subject. I'm as much in the dark as you both, although, maybe in retrospect, as team leader, I should have asked for clarification. I'm sorry."

"I have a feeling I know why this shit is taboo," Keith growls. "We got high as kites afterward." Keith is neglecting to mention how awesome the high was, or how arousing the whole thing was, Lance notes. He does notice that Keith slides along the counter a little, until his hip is just touching Lance's. Lance doesn't move away, and he can feel Keith tense and then relax when Lance remains where his is.

"No, that's sounds about right, if I remember correctly," Coran says. Coran is currently rubbing his chin with his fingers, looking contemplative. He raises a hand and waggles his index finger in the air. "From what I remember, it's nature's reward system," he starts out. "Think about it – you want people to breed – "

("Oh my god, why," Hunk mutters from the side.)

"- so what do you do? You reward those that cooperate. In this case, it seems that, just like the Falosians, humans experience the same side effects – that is, the same rewards – for doing what nature wants," Coran continues. He starts to tick off his fingers as he makes his points. "A natural high that feels incredible, orgasm of course, maybe even multiple orgasms if you are lucky, yes, Lance?"

Lance watches Coran wiggle his eyebrows suggestively and seriously considers dying instantly. Because – this cannot be happening. Lance suddenly knows how Keith feels during most personal interactions. It's horrible.

Coran raises another finger and Lance realizes in horror that Coran has just started and that it's not over; not by a long shot. "Shared visions of a sort are also quite common due to a raise in oxytocin levels, as is the need to be really close with the other partner for at least twenty four hours afterward until the bite settles." Coran steps toward Lance slowly. "In fact, if your alpha doesn't mind, Lance, I'd like to examine y– "

Keith growls and steps in front of Lance, hand out to block Coran, and the room grows so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Keith visibly seems to get himself under control and steps back until he's leaning on the counter again, next to Lance, hip touching. "I'm not his alpha," Keith says casually. "This is just a mission."

_Ouch_, Lance thinks, struggling to keep his face blank and not show the shock he feels at Keith's statement. He's newly claimed; the last thing he needs to hear is that he's not wanted. _They say the truth always hurts and that felt like a slap_. 

Still, Lance has always been good at wearing a mask to hide his insecurities; it's not like he's an idiot and isn't aware of his failings, so he tries to school his expression. Blank. _Blank is good_. 

Lance can see Shiro watching him; frowning, and Lance looks away.

"On the contrary, Keith, this may be a mission, but that bite is real. Both your body and Lance's believes that you have claimed Lance as yours –albeit temporarily," Coran warns. "Don't underestimate your alpha and omega sides, either one of you. That bite is a Pandora's Box for your secondary genders – keep that in mind. And now that box is open."

Allura steps forward, standing next to Shiro in an unconscious sign of solidarity. "You should both be kind to your secondary selves in the next little while. Until you leave I suggest you should indulge your alpha and omega – if they wish to be close, you should let them. I fear there will be grave consequences if you force them apart." She looks pointedly at how close Keith stands to Lance. "We simply don't know about any side effects that could be detrimental for either of you."

"I would think that things will have settled by tomorrow, Princess," Coran replies. "Then Keith and Lance can start the mission in earnest."

"Speaking of the mission," Shiro says, "when is your contact from the Blade arriving for a final brief?"

"He should be here shortly," Keith replies. "He'll need to speak with both Lance and I before we leave, and to give us all last minute updates and any changes to the plan."

"Okay." Shiro nods. "Coran, is there anything you need to do or to run any tests while Lance and Keith are here?"

Coran nods. "I'd like to get a final scan of both Keith and Lance just to check their health, and we need to get the trackers in as well."

"Trackers?" Lance shifts, moving away from Keith a little. He ignores the way Keith goes tense beside him.

"I wanted to make sure we have a way to keep tabs on you both," Shiro says. "No tracker, no mission; I was very clear about that. We won't be able to talk to you, or you to us, but we will be able to see where you are. Pidge is going to monitor the signal at intervals."

That actually makes Lance relax a little; knowing that the pack will be watching out for him and Keith. That the team will still have eyes on them, even if the Castle of Lions is parked a couple of star systems over in order to stay out of sight.

Coran is fiddling with what looks like some kind of long wand, loading it. After a minute he nods and turns to them both. "Okay, so tracker ready. Who wants to go first?"

Keith steps forward, holding out his arm. "I'll do it."

Lance watches as Coran approaches, running a sterile wipe over Keith's forearm, holding his arm to brace it. Keith is being very… protective, Lance thinks. He's not sure how he feels about it. Keith winces a little when Coran depresses the applicator. The device appears to make a small incision, depositing a tiny tracker under the skin. _Deep_ under the skin, before sealing the wound. It leaves a tiny pink scar.

"Um, are you sure this is necessary?" Lance asks. "That looked kinda, I dunno, unnecessarily _deep_."

"Lance, it has to be," Shiro explains. "You don't want it to come loose if you graze the skin, or get a small injury. And you want it deep enough that if you are compromised, the enemy won't think it worthwhile to try extracting it without a significant amount of blood loss."

Lance blanches at the implications of that. Sure, he's thought about this sort of thing since he agreed to the mission, but Shiro manages to sound so clinical when he talks like this. It brings Lance up short, thinking about what he knows of Shiro's past; the Kerberos mission and what happened afterward. It's sobering, and the last of Lance's remaining high seems to vanish; to fade like wisps of mist until he feels small and a little vulnerable.

He starts when Coran approaches with the wand reloaded. "Ready, Lance?"

"Uh, sure." Lance focuses somewhere around the middle of Coran's chest as he sterilizes Lance's left forearm. It's not that he's scared; he just doesn't like to watch people doing medical shit to him if he can help it. The incision feels a little like a tiny punch to the arm – quick, sharp, pain – and then it's over, and Lance is stepping back, rubbing over the newly healed skin with his thumb. It's just a dull ache now, matches the ache in his scent gland. 

"Okay, are we good here?" Shiro asks. 

Coran nods. "Everything's tip top. Let's get our brave paladins on their way!"

Some sense of normalcy returns to Lance as the team chatter around him. Shiro asking questions, Allura and Coran answering what they can. Pidge running data and Hunk leaning over to whisper in her ear with suggestions. Keith… being stoic. All is pretty much right with the world and, for the first time since the Awkward started this morning, Lance feels himself relax a little, despite Keith's rejection.

Maybe he can survive the rest of the day with his dignity intact.

* * *

Shiro tags along to talk with the Blade's liaison, Rax, and to lead the mission briefing. Keith's walking slightly behind Shiro and Lance, and he walks a little faster, hurrying to catch up. Lance can feel the tugging anxiety settle back down again once they are walking next to each other. It feels less intense, like the bond might be finally starting to settle down. The bond is only supposed to last a week, maybe two, so it would make sense that, once the bond has clarified, it would settle down quickly. It's a claiming bite, not a full bond-bite. It's temporary and it should stand to reason that the initial effects would also be fleeting, Lance assumes. 

They step onto the elevator and Keith mashes the button to take them up to the observation and meeting rooms. No wonder the elevator broke that one time, Lance thinks, especially if Keith goes around mashing all electronics like he has a personal vendetta against it.

Shiro settles against the back wall, Keith leaning next to him. "Can I ask both of you a question?" Shiro asks. 

"Sure," Lance replies, quirking an eyebrow, and Keith grunts.

"Can you feel the bond between you?" Shiro is looking at them both, eyebrow raised quizzically. "Does it affect you physically? Can you both feel it?" 

Lance has forgotten in all the fuss that the bond is just that: a bond. Not just a way to claim a partner, but it is supposed to allow them a passive way to keep in contact with each other, or so the old rumours say. They should be able to feel what each other is feeling or experiencing to a certain degree, but as to how much – that's debatable since this is an untested and temporary claiming bond.

Lance can feel a blush color his cheeks and he clears his throat. He stares ahead. He is _not_ going to make eye contact with Keith, hell no. Okay, maybe just a quick glance.

Shiro runs his hand through his hair; an almost nervous gesture. "I don't mean to pry, I'm just curious because nobody's ever tried to bite-bond. You don't have to answer if it makes you uncomfortable."

"Um, we haven't had time to try to communicate via the bond yet," Keith begins, looking at Lance for permission and then closing his eyes to focus. Lance feels a soft nudge against his consciousness, a bit like a soft caress against his temple, as Keith opens his eyes again. His expression is open, maybe a little awed. "I could feel that just now, when I reached out. Did you feel it?"

Lance is standing there, mouth open, blinking. He felt that. Like, actually _felt_ Keith reach out. "Uh, it's, um." God, he is so eloquent, Jesus. "I’m a little surprised that worked," Lance blurts out. "Can I try?"

Keith nods, and leans back, tilting his head against the wall of the elevator. He's leaving his stance open, neck exposed, as if he's showing Lance that he trusts him. That makes Lance feel a little... warm, and he pushes that feeling forward toward the person at the end of his bond, toward Keith. Keith's eyes widen, and he makes a little noise in the back of his throat that Lance can't quite define; part surprise, part… something from last night, Keith is pushing back at him, a tiny tendril of desire and –

_Okay_, so they are not going to do this, not in front of their pack Alpha, shit no. No to doing this period, Lance thinks, cause they have a mission to complete and –

"Yeah, feels a little weird," Keith says hoarsely, trying to cover for the mini freak-out both of them are currently having. "Maybe need to practice that a little more to refine it."

"Totally agree," Lance says, forcing the blush back down and staring at the elevator doors. "Practice makes perfect, yeah."

Shiro is either totally oblivious to the growing sexual tension or he's trying to salvage the conversation, because he says, "I also notice I can't scent you either, Lance."

Lance snaps his head around in shock, mortification forgotten for the moment. "You can't scent me? At all?"

"Nope." Shiro pops the p on the end of the word. "Even if I force it, you smell bland, like a normal beta would. It's not a lack of scent; it's just… not appealing to me all of a sudden."

"But – " Lance's brain is flailing for an explanation. "But as pack Alpha you were interested before?"

Shiro pauses and then laughs. "Sorry, I should clarify that. Usually I can pinpoint you by your scent, Lance. Not only as an omega, but as _you_, the scent that makes up you particularly. Same with Keith, and every member of the pack, everyone is different. But right now, it's like you're not there. It was particularly bland this morning; it had me worried when you walked into Medical because I could see you but not scent you properly. I'm starting to get more of a sense for you now, but you still smell – "

"Claimed," Keith adds. "Like he's off the market."

"What the hell?" Lance bites out. "Are you both kidding me? You can't scent me at all?"

"Oh, I can." Keith's smirk is hungry all of a sudden, eyes flashing with excitement momentarily. "It's intoxicating; I'm having a hard time staying away."

Lance makes an indignant squawking sound; internally, his omega is preening, ready to drop trousers and get down to it. Fortunately, before anyone can say or do anything else embarrassing, the elevator doors open to their floor.

Lance pretty much throws himself out of the elevator and marches down the corridor toward the meeting rooms.

"Something I said," Shiro says with a smirk. "Or something you said, Keith?"

"You guys suck!" is the only response Lance can legitimately come up with right now. He's flustered, confused, and worried about the mission, and just wants to get the damn thing started. Stat.

* * *

Rax cuts an impressive figure as he stands with his hands behind his back, watching the stars through the viewing glass. He turns to greet the group when they enter the meeting room and Shiro steps forward to shake his hand. Seems like the Blade are finally starting to unbend a little when it comes to human interaction; although maybe that's more because the paladins are doing them a favour by taking on their mission. The Blade have already failed this mission once, they aren't going to risk failing a second time. And if that involves caving a little when it comes to interaction with others then so be it, Lance thinks. He's tempted to pull out his and Hunk's Bro Handshake (which has eight moves just to fuck everyone up) to see what he thinks of _that_.

He feels a little nudge at the edge of his consciousness, a quick prod that's not really subtle, from Keith. Seems like Keith's getting the hang of it, learning quickly after the incident in the elevator. It's weird; it's like each interaction through the bond manages to convey not one emotion but a few separate layers, and if Lance had experience with the bond and with understanding what the fuck Keith was thinking most of the time, it would probably be a really useful tool in a partnership. Interesting, and definitely something to think about later on.

"Shall we get started?" Shiro's words draw Lance back into the room and away from his musing. Lance slides into a seat next to Keith, with Shiro on his left. It's a typical flanking move - protect the omega by putting the alphas on the outside. This time it's not subtle, and that's maybe why Lance notices. He's not sure if it's a new thing because of the bond, or if both Keith and Shiro are doing it subconsciously and Lance just never paid attention in the past. It's a little... weird, to be honest, but this isn't the time to cause a scene about it. Voltron has to present a united front to outsiders, even allies they trust.

Rax nods to Shiro and then focuses on the group individually. He's average height for Galra, maybe seven feet tall, with pale lavender hair tied into a knot at the back of his neck. He has faint purple markings under both eyes, and he reminds Lance of a Galra quarterback, with his face paint on. He supresses a smirk, instead tries to push his amusement back at Keith to see if he can get the bond to react. Keith turns his head enough to make eye contact with Lance, and rolls his eyes, corner of his mouth curling. Lance grins fully now; clearly with practice this is going to be useful tool.

"Guys, pay attention," Shiro warns in his dad voice, like he knows they're up to something but can't quite pinpoint what.

"Sorry." Lance folds his hands together on the table and focuses on Rax. What he might have to impart could be the difference between life or death on the planet, so it's maybe a good idea to pay attention.

Rax nods to both Lance and Keith, a subtle acknowledgement. "On behalf of the Blade, I would like to thank both of you for agreeing to assist us with this mission. We believe that the data we can acquire from this mission will be invaluable, both in freeing the Falosians from the Galra Empire, and to the universe at large."

"So what exactly is the game plan?" Lance asks. "Stroll in, do some recon, grab the stuff and leave?" 

Keith and Shiro fix Lance with flat expressions, while Rax raises a bushy eyebrow. "What?" Lance squawks. "It's a valid assumption, right?"

"The red paladin is essentially correct," says Rax with a smirk. "_Strolling in_, as Lance puts it, will be made considerably easier due to the fact that the town of Nara is having its annual spring festival. This festival is dedicated to the god Ashea; a horned deity said to represent both the hunt and flowers, and is immensely popular."

"Sounds to me like a good old fertility festival," Lance coos, resting his chin on his hand and turning to waggle his eyebrows at Keith suggestively. Keith, predictably, goes bright red for a few seconds, clenching his jaw and staring daggers at Lance until he can get his reactions under control. "Man, you are so easy to rile up," Lance laughs with a quick shake of his head. "Almost too easy."

Rax clears his throat. "You two are very feisty for a newly bonded couple," he says curiously. "Is riling your partner up with words and insults a human thing or an alpha/omega thing?"

"It's a Lance thing," says Keith flatly.

Before Lance can get indignant, Rax is smoothly pulling the conversation back on line. "The festival - known locally as the _Feast of Falling Blossoms_ – will attract a large, but temporary population that will migrate to Nara for the length of the festival. In this celebratory chaos it will be easy for you both to blend in, simply another couple celebrating the festival and partying. You can use this distraction to your advantage once you have arrived."

"What do we know about the planet and the population?" Shiro asks, steepling his fingers together. Shiro's always been a great leader; he wants all the pertinent information, whether he's staying behind or joining a mission. 

"Falos is very similar to earth, as I believe Kolivan mentioned," Rax replies. He bends his arm, prodding at a small device that looks like a watch on his wrist. As he turns, the heads up display projects itself onto the meeting room wall, showing a series of photos and videos. "Frozen water at the poles, hotter on the equator; your average green zone planet," Rax says with a shrug. 

"Green zone?" Lance asks.

Keith turns to Lance. "Haven't you been listing to Coran spout all this stuff since we got up here?" he asks. He pauses. "No wait, don't answer that," he amends hastily. Lance has gotta agree, Coran is knowledgeable but his overenthusiastic delivery means that most people filter out the majority of the information he imparts out of sheer self-defence.

"Lance, a green zone planet means it's located in the thin band that we consider a comfortable habitable area of any given solar system," Shiro reminds him. "The _Goldilocks Zone_ as we called it on earth."

"Oh right, _that_ green zone," Lance mutters, waving a hand. "It's coming back to me now."

Rax watches the team bicker, blinking, but saying little else until he realizes they've finally stopped. "Most of the landmass is located just north of the equator. This landmass has a mountainous interior and left side, with a thin strip of land a couple of hundred kilometers wide against the shore which is useful for farming and habitation," Rax continues. "The town of Nara lies on the edge of this band, nestled close to the foothills. It is a rich, forested area, with most of the coastal plains set aside for farming."

Keith nods. "Yeah, it looks like the temperature should be pleasant enough. Seems to get really hot on Falosa during their summer but we don't have to worry about that since its spring."

Rax swipes his hand to the side to reveal more photos, superimposed over a map of the town. "Nara has the planet's only major civic center, which is run by a Galra governor, and he has a dedicated, core staff of Galra officials and guards."

That makes Lance sit up. "What? How does that work? Why doesn't the population just overthrow the Galra if there are so few of them?"

"Consider the Galra the space version of the Roman Empire," Shiro explains. "The Galra, just like the Romans, can't possibly hope to keep a vice-like grip on a massive empire through force alone. Think about it, Lance, what's the easiest way to control a population?"

"Um, I'd reward them with things they enjoy? A content population wouldn't bother trying to foment rebellion." Lance replies with a shrug. He's expecting Keith to snort, for Shiro give him an exasperated, fond look.

Instead: "Ha, I knew you were smart, Lance," Shiro says with a grin.

"Really?" Lance actually got something right? _Write that on the calendar_, he thinks. "See, Keith, I'm not just a pretty face!"

Keith tuts, and leans back. "Can we carry on?"

"So, rewards," Shiro says. "You convince a population it's more worth their while to cooperate than to fight back. You promote leaders of that population to major positions in the new government, convince them to become model Galra citizens, and the rest of the populous fall in line. It becomes fashionable to mimic your conquerors, and you let time do the rest. Voila, a healthy population that manages itself, without the need for an iron fist to rule over them."

"That's brilliant," Lance says. "Outrageous, but brilliant. A soft invasion."

Rax clears his throat and presses a button on his wrist interface, making the projections disappear from the wall. "So, to wrap up, as the red paladin so succinctly put it, get in, get out, and get the stuff." He smirks, showing two very sharp canine teeth. "Go forward with our hopes for success, Paladin of Voltron, and Keith." He offers a deep bow from the waist.

Shiro stands up, effectively bringing the briefing to a close. "I'll see you to your ship, Rax," he says. "Keith, Lance, if there's anything either of you need to do before you head down planetside, now would be the time."

Lance watches Shiro leave the room with Rax, and then he turns to Keith, letting out a deep sigh. "_Sooooo_, I guess we really are doing this, huh?"

"I would hope so, considering the discomfort you've put yourself through so far," Keith says with a raised eyebrow, looking pointedly at Lance's neck. 

Lance refuses to allow the shiver of low-grade arousal that trickles down his spine to show, amplified by the ache of the bite. "Yeah, I'd say you got the better end of the deal here, Keith," Lance goads instead. "You get to spend a full-on week with myself, Lance the loverboy. Eat it up, baby, you know you want it."

Keith fixes Lance with a flat look and then smirks. It's very reminiscent of the way Keith had looked at him in the elevator, and Lance's stomach drops a little in a thrilling swoop. Keith leans in just close enough to Lance that they are almost kissing; exchanging breaths. He glances down at Lance's lips and then back to meet his eyes. "Don't tempt me, sharpshooter," he murmurs.

With a final glance, Keith pulls back and strides from the room, leaving Lance feeling a little warm and a whole lot flustered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Now we get to go planetside in the next chapter and start all the real fun stuff! :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally planetside, Keith and Lance must navigate not only new social customs and a new environment, but also their bond and their fake relationship.

Pidge takes them down to Falos in the Green Lion since it's the only lion that has the ability to cloak. Cloaking is invaluable; the last thing anyone needs to try to explain to the locals is why one of the lions of Voltron has suddenly appeared out of thin air. The plan is to cruise in cloaked, close to the mountains near Nara, and get a distant overview of the town while they are able to from the air. The Blade's information is at least a couple of months old; since their failed attempt to gain the information they required, they'd backed off to regroup, pulling back their presence before approaching the Paladins for help. It's not a stretch to be cautious; things and situations may have changed since The Blade were last here. The Blade have a small, hidden location (read: forest shack) about three miles out with some supplies that have been stashed there, and that will also double as a bolt-hole if they need it in an emergency. 

Lance leans against the side of the cockpit, arms crossed and body slightly turned so that he can both see out of the window and watch Keith, who is leaning in almost the same position on the other side, just behind Pidge. Keith looks a little...tense, and is staring out of the window, watching as the sky drops from the black of space to a thin blue band, and then the bright azure of the planet's atmosphere. Lance can feel a faint hint of discomfort through their bond; it's nothing to do with the mission, he thinks, although he's not good at reading Keith yet. He pushes a little strand of calm back toward Keith, watching as his shoulders drop a little and a smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth. _That's better_, Lance thinks.

They're both dressed in local everyday wear – what amounts to loose shirts: Keith's linen coloured and Lance's an off-white. Lance has rolled his sleeves up; a shirt is a shirt, and Lance can't go out in public without at least trying to make an effort at some form of style. Keith's apparent discomfort stems from the pants; he'd made a hell of a fuss back on the Castle. Lance can appreciate Keith's discomfort; the man only ever cycles through three or four clothing changes, and the loose, cotton-like cargo pants are outside of his comfort zone. Keith's used to either the Paladin under-armour, his high-waisted black jeans, leggings (_oh god_, Lance loves those leggings, Jesus fucking Christ), and sweat pants. Low riding baggy cargo pants that hug his hips below the navel are _not_ a part of Keith's repertoire. They should be, Lance thinks, because he absolutely cannot drag his eyes away from the waistband, where they sit slung low below his Adonis belt like a fucking invitation to touch or… _lick_. The loose shirt barely reaches Keith's hip, and the combination has Lance almost combusting every time he looks at Keith.

Lance drags his eyes away from the potential feast in front of him with some effort and stares out the window, rubbing his fingers across the filigree silver band he's wearing on his right index finger. It's something he picked up on some backwater planet a couple of months ago, and he's not even sure what the metal is, but it reminds him of home. Years ago, before he left his family on Cuba, he'd had something similar, but now it's lost somewhere on earth, left behind when they’d found the Blue Lion. He's always liked wearing rings, but it's not practical in the military. Doesn't mean he can't wear it now, however, and he'd leapt at the chance.

The Green Lion swoops lower, and now they can make out actual features of the landmass below, rather than just colored smudges. A giant mountain range takes up most of the middle of the continent, leaving a band of arable land at the edges, close to the sea. They fly low over the forests that make up the left side of the continent, following the swell of the foothills. Pidge isn't picking up any tracking pings, or anything that suggests the Galra are monitoring incoming craft, but it doesn't mean they aren't. There's a small landing pad nestled against the hills near the town, but Pidge steers well clear of that, coming around and in from the south. 

The town of Nara is a sprawling development nestled in the foothills. It's surrounded by a high stone circular wall, with three gates spaced at even intervals. Right now its early afternoon on Falos, so the gates should still be open to regular traffic, especially with the influx of festival goers. The main Galra administration buildings huddle in the center of the town, with three main roads radiating out of the centre to the gates. The walled enclosure is massive, and holds not only densely packed houses and shops in the middle, red tile roofs bright in the sunlight, but a diverse mixture of thatched houses, temples, what looks like a colosseum, and further out toward a giant kidney-shaped reservoir, a wide swathe of parkland and forest.

The town falls behind them as Pidge mutters, bringing the lion to a hover. "Okay, I'm not seeing this hideout shack thingy," she says, turning around. "Keith, where did Rax say it was supposed to be?"

Keith moves forward, leaning one hand on the back of Pidge's pilot chair, and stares out of the HUD. The heads up display shows only miles of forest, tree leaves ruffling in a gentle breeze. "These are the coordinates," he says. "Looks like its well-hidden from above. The trees thinned out a mile back; you could drop us off there and we can walk in. Not ideal but it'll have to do."

Pidge nods. "On it." She turns the lion and skims the tree tops back towards where the rolling hills rise a little, showing a clearing where the trees thin just enough. "I'll get you as low as I can without being clocked by the locals and you'll have to rope down the rest of the way."

Lance sighs, slumping dramatically against the window. "I knew some part of this mission was gonna suck. If this ruins my new outfit I'm going to be a tad upset." He stands up. "Oh, park there." The ground swells up into a hill and the trees drop back, until Pidge can hover the Green Lion no more than fifteen feet from the ground. Too far to jump, unfortunately, so they will have to rappel down. Lance is just gonna have to deal and hope it's the suckiest part of the entire mission.

* * *

Lance's white shirt is the first casualty of the mission. He ends up with some kind of grass stain thingy near the bottom edge of the shirt, and he is absolutely not going to walk into town showing that off, so as soon as the Green Lion has accelerated back out into the atmosphere, Lance grabs the bottom of his shirt and start rolling it up, popping open the bottom couple of buttons.

"What are you doing?" Keith sounds a little panicked. His pack is dropped at his feet, and he has his hands on his hips, frowning.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Lance fans out the material to make it less bulky, and then ties the two ends into a knot in the center, tucking the ends under so it won't unravel. The shirt sits tight just above his navel now, and is obviously going to be way more fashionable than the baggy monstrosity it was before.

Keith makes a noise, which Lance can't quite read, but he does pick up a sort of breathlessness from the bond. He jerks his head up. "What?"

"You – you're going to walk into town like that?" Keith stutters out, dragging his hand through his hair, eyes wide.

"Are you my mother?"

"What?" Keith looks even more confused.

"Only my mother gets to tell me how to dress," Lance says, pointing a finger at Keith. He pauses. "And maybe you once we get into town and I have to be your omega. Until then, suck it up, mullet, and enjoy the view."

Keith makes a sort of choking sound – it might be anger, or something else, hard to tell – but he leans down and swipes up his pack, flinging it over his shoulder. "Let's find this shack."

* * *

They find the structure exactly at the coordinates it's supposed to be, although as Pidge mentioned, the tree foliage here is dense and it wouldn't have been visible from above. They wouldn't have been able to land nearby, that's for sure. This whole area is a riot of impenetrable tree cover; trees with giant thick, flat leaves that roughly resemble a heart shape. The air is humid as hell, water running freely down the trunks in places, forming squelchy patches under the moss as they walk.

"This is unpleasant," Keith says, making another one of his award-winning understatements of the year.

The shack looks like it's disintegrating in the humidity; lichen is growing on the wooden planking, which has warped in places, allowing the boards to swell and shrink with the seasons. Clearly The Blade don't worry about upkeep on potential safe houses and bolt-holes.

"I thought the climate was pretty tame here," Lance bites out. He can feel his shirt starting to stick to him, the humidity overpowering. Keith doesn't look any better, but hell, Lance is not going to complain if he gets to watch the way Keith's thin linen shirt is going to stick to his shoulders like that.

Keith seems to be hunting around for something on the warped boards next to the door. The door doesn't have a handle, only a keyhole, and Lance is gonna guess The Blade forgot to give him the key. "Must be a small microclimate that causes the humidity," Keith guesses, fingertips scratching at the wood. "Ha, here it is." 

He flattens his palm, and a panel illuminates, glowing Galra purple ™ for a few seconds, and then the door pops open. Or at least, it tries to pop open, but the humidity has swollen the frame so much all it manages to do is make a protesting sort of squeak and bow out an inch. Not to be dissuaded, Keith wiggles his fingers under the edge of the door and uses brute strength to pull the door open.

_Yeah, that shouldn't be sexy_, Lance thinks, chewing his lip, watching the way the muscles in Keith's back and shoulders flex, the way his ass tightens as he braces himself to pull on the door. Despite his strength, Keith can only persuade the door to open half way, and they both shimmy inside, dragging the door shut behind them. 

This time Keith's shirt is the casualty, but he's apparently a champ and doesn't say jack shit about it. At least the interior of the shack has a lamp, which is operated by some kind of battery pack. There are no windows, only a swollen, warped floor and a bed in one corner, which has a mattress and a neatly folded blanket and pillow. Keith places his hand on a panel, and the wall slides down to reveal some limited storage behind it. As promised, the shack holds some supplies, probably left behind by the team stationed here briefly. There's food – Lance adds a few drink pouches and energy bars to his knapsack, because he's not sure how long it'll be until they find somewhere to stay, and then he finds a map of the town. It appears to be annotated with spidery writing; maybe something useful for later? Lance adds that to his pack and turns to see what Keith is doing.

Keith has been sorting through a small pile of spare clothes he's discovered. He's smiling and Lance can't help but grin back, leaning his hip against the shelving and crossing his arms. "What has you grinning like a five year old?" Lance says with laugh.

"I found us some shirts," he says. "Means I won't have to wear this thing," he gestures at himself, "for any longer than I have to." He steps back, rips open the torn linen shirt he snagged on the door, and pulls it off. Lance doesn't even have time to catch up with his thirst before Keith has pulled on a tank top. Keith's posture immediately changes into something less tense, and it's clear he's much happier in familiar clothing.

Lance watches him grab the remaining shirts and stuff them in his pack. "Glad you didn't find any pants," Lance deadpans. "Because I _really_ like what you're wearing." He waits until Keith looks up at him and then winks.

Keith watches Lance for a few seconds, eyes narrowed, almost unreadable. Then he lets his gaze drop, dragging back up Lance's body from his feet, over his legs and hips, bare stomach, to his shoulders and then finally meets Lance's gaze. He smirks suggestively. "Yeah, well, I _don't_ like your pants," he huffs.

"What's wrong with my pants?!" Lance exclaims.

Keith's poker face doesn't crack. "They'd look way better on my floor," he then says with a wink, pushing a thin thread of desire at Lance through the bond. He smirks, and it's almost predatory. "Let's go McClain, we have work to do."

Lance splutters, honest to god splutters, at a loss for words for a few, brief seconds. "Did you – did you just use one of my own lines against me?" he accuses, grabbing his knapsack and following Keith out of the door. "I hate you, just so we are clear here."

"Yeah, yeah, I hate you too."

* * *

They trek in the direction Keith indicates, watching the sun as it starts to sink to the west. Lance is glad to see that the sun sets in the same direction as it does on Earth, because when they are out doing Voltron PR and visiting all these different planets, he finds it really disconcerting when the sun sets in the wrong direction. Of course, that implies most planets do have a sun. Lance has discovered the universe doesn't necessarily work that way – at least out this far – so he counts himself lucky this planet is at least marginally familiar and not shaped like a tortured Mobius strip like a couple he's seen already.

He watches the forest as they walk, occasionally glancing to the front where Keith walks ahead. They've assumed their usual track and hunt formation on instinct; Keith in the front with all the tracking skills, and Lance bringing up the rear. Usually he'd have his Bayard rifle with him, but they haven't brought anything on this trip that might indicate exactly who they are. It's far too dangerous. If this mission goes south they are on their own with only their survival skills to help them.

Keith slows down, enough to interrupt Lance's musing, and waves a hand behind him. Since they are supposed to be simply travelers, Lance feels safe enough breaking formation to come alongside Keith, crouching down when Keith does the same. "Why are we crouching in a bush at the side of the road?" Lance asks. This time he's actually being serious; Keith is good at the infiltration and assassination missions, so he knows what he's doing. Lance is more of the mop up guy bringing up the rear.

Keith rests a forearm on his own leg and glances at Lance. "Before we head towards the town, I just want to observe people for a little bit," he explains. "I want to make sure we look like we fit in, that our clothing isn’t out of date or worn incorrectly."

They watch a small group pass by, maybe twenty feet away on the road. They appear to be pairs, obviously alpha and omega, led by a tall woman with a walking stick, striding along confidently. Lance is watching Keith as much as he is observing the group. "See," Keith points vaguely in the direction of the group, "The tall woman is a beta. I'm gonna guess that, because of the festival, she's leading a group of pairs in."

"She's a tour guide?" Lance says with a raised eyebrow.

Keith laughs. "Maybe? She seems pretty confident so I would assume she's a local and knows the area. She's also a good starting point on clothing and mannerisms. She's wearing a tank top like this one," Keith pulls at his borrowed top, "so we know I'm safe wearing this."

"Unless only betas do," Lance points out. 

"Nope, that alpha also has one." 

Lance skips back a few people to a blonde male. He notices most of the alpha walk tall and proudly, and also that when the alpha aren't paying attention to their mates – or potential mates – the omega seem to group together, gesturing with excitement and sharing quick and easy conversation. As soon as one of the alpha draw their attention they return to their pairings. Lance watches, fascinated, as each group they observe follows the same societal structures. It's actually super interesting, and Lance has never really had time to stop to observe another species like this, especially one so close to their own, but so different at the same time.

"Ready to go?" Keith asks. 

Lance nods. "Yeah, do we have it covered?" 

"Yeah, except for this." Keith stands up and pulls his pack up with one hand. They've both been carrying it at the neck with the cord tied at the top where it bunches up, over one shoulder. Turns out most of the people carrying one cinch the cord at the top, and there are two loops at the bottom. Each cord is threaded through a loop and tied off, so the bag can be worn like a backpack. Once they've got that sorted, Keith stops Lance with a hand on his forearm. It's careful, not a grab, just a check in. "Are we good?" he asks. "This is the part where we have to pretend, and we can't drop the charade until the mission is over, no matter what happens. I know you got this, Lance, that we can do this successfully. Are we still on the same page?"

Lance knows he can't back out now, but he also doesn't want to. He knows that, as the alpha and mission leader, Keith is just checking in to make sure his soldier is mentally on the same page, following the plan, ready to execute. Any team going in to danger like this would do the same thing; Keith has done it on countless occasions before a battle as the Black Paladin, and Lance has never questioned him. Still, he does a mental check in with himself, because he knows Keith wants him to. "I’m ready," he says with a serious nod. "Let's get this show on the road."

They wait for a gap in the arriving groups, slipping from the road when nobody is visible, walking closely, side by side. The forest crowds the road on either side and, after they've walked maybe a couple of miles, it starts to thin out, until the road meets with what should be the main coastal road leading into the town. This road is busier, as the sun is setting and most people want to get inside and get settled before nightfall. 

Things bunch up close to the gates; a number of carts are stopped by the guards to check over, while another guard tries to wave in the crowds of excited festival attendees through a smaller side gate. The walls are enormous: maybe forty feet high, solid rock hewn into rough blocks, stacked high. Lance is curious because he can't see inside; he can picture the town from the air when they flew in, but he's itching to see how it looks from the ground. Keith moves closer to him, hips bumping in the press of people, and then Keith has his hand, fingers squeezing tight, awkward and stiff. Lance turns to Keith and smiles, squeezing back hesitantly, hoping to get Keith to relax. He's tense like a soldier right now; senses on alert, watching everyone, everything. 

He's going to break Lance's fingers unless he relaxes, like _now_.

Lance pushes closer to Keith, leaning in until he can nuzzle just under Keith's ear, mainly to soothe, but also, (he's not gonna lie), to soak in Keith's scent for a moment. "Relax, Keith," Lance whispers against Keith's ear. He shakes his wrist a little, drawing Keith's attention to where their hands are joined. "No need to break my fingers. We're a claimed pair, yes?" 

Keith nods and slowly tilts his head to the side just a tiny bit, enough that Lance can nuzzle in a little more. Lance isn't even sure Keith realizes he's doing it. "Is this okay?" he asks, feeling Keith's hand tighten against his and then finally relax. 

Keith manages a nod. For a quick moment, he looks beautiful in the pale evening light; hair mussed, shoulders strong and bare, eyes bright. He looks young, a Keith that Lance hasn’t seen much of, only brief hints here and there, fleeting like smoke. He appears to be a little spaced out at the moment, only reacting when Lance pulls away as they near the gate. Keith has an impressive flush across his cheekbones, and he's biting his lip. He is absolutely _not_ making eye contact with Lance right now, looking everywhere but right next to him as they move with the crowd closer toward the gate.

When it's all said and done, it's pretty underwhelming when the guard waves them through the gate with barely a glance. He's letting people in in groups, rather than a rush, trying to limit the flow of confused and /or inebriated people spilling into the town in one go. Keith seems to pull out of his daze and takes the lead, pulling Lance along next to him. Lance wants to tell him to slow down, to absorb the atmosphere, but the truth is they need to find somewhere to stay and, judging by the influx of people, that's going to be tough.

Keith pauses as they get close to the town center. It looks like this is where the main market is, along with the administration complex and a couple of temples. "What now?" Lance asks. 

Keith pulls him out of the flow of traffic and to the side of the road, where there is another high stone wall they can lean against. "I think this side of town is the more affluent end," Keith says, frowning as he looks around. It's clear he's trying to remember what the town looked like from the air.

"Oh, wait." Lance shrugs off his pack and pulls out the folded map, ignoring the hand written notes in favour of the main points of interest. Keith takes a corner of the map so they can both look at it together. "Um, what about near the north end?" Lance suggests. "Most people are immediately going to look for an inn around here, where they came in, right? If we walk to the north end, maybe we can find something along the street there. It's full of shops and stuff."

"Okay, seems reasonable," Keith says. "Let's get out of this crowd."

Lance folds the map and stuffs it back in the pack, slinging it back over his shoulders and tightening the strings. Keith reaches out and snags Lance's hand, and Lance fights down the smirk because Keith's entire body language is radiating horrified awkward again, and Lance is worried if he pokes at Keith about it, it's only going to get worse. They need to blend in, not stand out.

They follow the road to the left as it skirts the edge of the market, and start north. Here it's mostly shops and stalls, long streets radiating off this lined with thatched dwellings; some one or two stories high, some triangular in shape, reminiscent of the Japanese farmhouses that Lance has seen on history vids.

They walk until the crowds start to clear out. It seems the north gate from the forest has been closed for the night, leaving only the main coastal gate open and maybe the south one, Lance can't be sure. He follows along next to Keith, content to wander where he does while he soaks in the atmosphere, breathing this place in and trying to assimilate into its culture. The air in the city is less humid, more reminiscent of early summer back at home, and now the sun is setting, the air should be good for sleeping. 

They try two or three of the more friendly looking inns on the main street with no luck – already fully booked, sometimes months in advance according to one woman at the front desk. Next they try a couple of less… salubrious looking guesthouses, with the same luck. Lance is about to admit the very real possibility they could be spending tonight sleeping in that big park he noticed near the lake. He's slept in worse, but he was kinda hoping they'd find somewhere with a nice bed and maybe a shower or something.

There's a tug on Lance's hand as Keith draws him across the road, down a wide side street. They walk for a few minutes, the crowds fading away the further they get from the main road. Keith is pulling Lance towards a large building he's spotted. This building is set back from the road in a U-shape, two stories with faded red tile capping the roofs. It looks old, steeped in its own permanence, moss gathering on the walkway to the door. The universal sign for a guesthouse beckons Keith forward, and Lance follows along. This place looks perfect, but Lance doubts they have room based on their luck so far.

"See if they have space," Keith says. "I'm gonna check the vicinity and see if this is an area we want to stay in or not. I don't fancy getting murdered in my sleep."

"Check the vici – Keith _get back here_," Lance hisses. Keith gives him a wave, blending expertly into the shadows and effectively disappearing for the moment. Lance huffs and then, when he realizes he's standing in the middle of the road, walks over to the front of the inn. _Fine_. He'll see if a room is available.

Lance grits his teeth. He's gonna have to wing this; sure, he's got charm and can bullshit his way through ninety-nine percent of conversations, but they haven't really had time to observe people's customs and how they talk with each other. Plus, as alpha, Keith has done the talking so far. _Damn it._ Lance takes a deep breath, puts on a winning smile, and steps through the door into the reception area.

He's greeted by a young man, probably Shiro's age, who stands up straight as soon as he notices Lance. He flushes a little, and rests his hands on the countertop. He looks nervous. Maybe he's been left with night duty by the owner or something, Lance thinks. "Ah, hello?" Lance says (cautiously, because, winging this, oh my god).

The young man clears his throat. "Good evening, traveller. Can I assist you?"

Okay, so formal, formal, Lance notes and adjusts accordingly. "I'm wondering if you would have any rooms available." 

The young man nods quickly, and then appears to size Lance up, gaze pausing somewhere around his bare midriff before sliding up to meet Lance's eyes. Lance offers him a quizzical eyebrow raise, but doesn't say anything else, because he _really_ wants to sleep in a real bed tonight and pissing off the last good hope for the evening isn't going to further that goal. (And Keith will kill him, but that's a different hypothetical problem). 

The man flicks through a ledger resting on the counter and runs a finger down the left page. He looks back up. "I don't have much, but we have a small guest room in the annex off the back porch. Double bed, if that is enough? How large is your party?"

"Just two," Lance confirms. 

The man nods, and then looks over Lance's shoulder when the door opens. Lance turns, relieved to see Keith. Keith gives him a nod, and then seems to notice the young man, so he steps in toward Lance and slips his hand over Lance's waist in a possessive gesture. The young man looks to Lance, who smiles winningly, and then steps fully into Keith's embrace, like the good little omega he is. Lance is shocked when the man turns to Keith and starts to direct the conversation to him.

"So, as I was just explaining to your mate, we have a small room available at the back. It's not much, but it has a double bed and a small bathroom. Will that be acceptable?"

_What the fuck?_ Lance thinks. Is he suddenly invisible here or something? "We'll take it," Lance replies.

The young man looks a little panicky, refusing to make eye contact with Lance, and fixing his gaze on Keith. Keith seems to sense something is off and says, "Yes, we'll take the room." He gives Lance's waist a little squeeze of assurance but, for once, Lance is speechless with the way he's been ghosted on the conversation. It doesn't make sense. He watches as Keith signs the guestbook with a fake name and collects the key, negotiating the room rate down expertly like he's done this hundreds of times before. 

Lance remains silent, simmering with annoyance that Keith can no doubt feel, both through the bond and because they are teammates. They follow the young man down through the inn, out to the back porch, and along the right side, until they reach a set of stone steps. The back of the inn is also U-shaped, porches wrapped along three sides of a pond, lit with stone lamps at intervals since it is dark. They take a couple more steps and enter the porch of a secondary building, set back amongst the trees, and the young man stops at a second door and unlocks it with a key, which he then passes to Keith. He bows formally. "Ashea protect you both, and bring you and your omega bounty," he intones carefully. He offers another bow to Lance and then excuses himself.

Lance waits until they are in the room before unloading verbally. "What the hell was that?" he exclaims. "And er, thanks for the backup, dude. Like, did either of you notice me standing there, or did I suddenly turn invisible the moment you showed up?"

Keith latches the door and makes sure it's locked. He drops his knapsack to the floor and steps into Lance's space, hand resting on Lance's shoulder, fingers curling around his neck dangerously close to his scent gland. Lance resists the urge to submit, but only just, gritting his teeth. "What?" he bites out.

Keith sighs. "He was ignoring you on purpose," Keith says. His eyes widen a little when he realizes what he said. "Um, I meant – shit. Sorry, Lance." He seems to realize what he's doing, standing so close, and shifts just a little so he's not crowding Lance so much. "You remember, in the forest, the pairs we saw? How the omega would group together and when one of the alpha called attention to themselves they returned to their original pairs? I think it's something similar. I've been watching people while we were searching for a place to stay, and I think – I think here – " Keith looks a little concerned, stepping back from Lance fully now, "here an omega is a person until they are with their alpha, and then they… aren't?"

"What the fuck does that mean, Keith?" Lance says in a flat tone, putting his hands on his hips. He can't shout like he wants to, because this is a mission, and they are still in public, even if it is a guest room.

"It means that I think people will interact with you until I'm around, in which case you revert to my property rather than being an actual person, so I have to speak for you. The person you are conversing with will automatically continue the conversation with me, but without drawing attention to it, because that is considered rude from what I've observed."

"Is this what Rax was talking about when he said the Falosians were like us but less enlightened on the secondary gender thing?"

"I would guess, yes," Keith admits. "I'm sorry if this is going to make things difficult for you."

Lance doesn't show his surprise at Keith's admission, but he can tell that Keith feels it through the bond, regardless. "We'll have to work with it," Lance muses. "We may have to split up in order to cover more ground. If we are together, well – essentially we're halving our potential."

"Although…" Keith grins, "you could really play up the dumb omega trope if you wanted. That might be fun." Keith scoops up his knapsack and places it on top of a chest situated at the end of the bed, taking Lance's from him without thinking and doing the same.

"Shall I drop to my knees and service my lord in front of the innkeeper while I'm at it?" Lance replies archly, only half-joking. He's not sure on a scale of one to ten yet how angry the whole thing makes him, but he's pretty sure it's _way_ up there. He just needs time to let that anger simmer into something he can use later.

It takes Lance a moment to realize that Keith is standing there, mouth parted, cheeks pink, and staring at Lance.

"What? Something I said?" Lance says with a humourless smirk.

"I – I'm going to get ready for bed." Keith snatches up his pack and flees to the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

Lance lets out a deep sigh, sinking down onto the edge of the bed. The customs here _suck_. He can't imagine going through life being a person until an alpha comes around and then suddenly you are not. I mean, how do people know if an omega belongs to an alpha? Not every alpha can speak for any omega, can they? _Can_ they? God, if that is the case, that is terrifying, Lance thinks. 

The bathroom door opens and Keith strolls out in a pair of loose pajama pants. He slinks onto the bed, carefully avoiding touching Lance. Lance isn't sure if that's because he doesn't want to upset Lance further, or if he feels awkward. A bed is a complicated space; it implies many things, not only sleeping. It invites passion, or rest. Apparently Keith is going straight for option two because he slides under the sheet, fluffs the pillow and lays there. 

Like a corpse.

Lance turns and stares at Keith for a few moments, feeling the silence stretch to the breaking point. Keith flicks his eyes over to Lance and then back at the ceiling, clearing his throat. "Imma sleep. Long day," Keith finally offers.

"Uh, same, buddy," Lance deadpans. "We woke up together, remember?" Keith flushes again, and Lance would be a liar if he didn't admit he was really, really enjoying watching Keith run hot and cold, confusion evident at every turn. Lance is only an asshole some of the time though, so he takes pity on Keith and gets up, retrieving his knapsack and heading to the bathroom. 

"Sleep well, Keith," Lance says softly, and he watches Keith relax, as if Keith was waiting for Lance to give him permission. Maybe he's just glad that Lance isn't going to needle him about the whole sleeping-in-the-same-bed thing. (Lance is, but he's going to do it later when they are both more awake and when it's more fun). 

Lance knows that Keith is going to be asleep by the time he finishes his skin care routine, and that's okay too. Lance won't admit it, but it is going to be awkward for the first night, maybe two, until they get used to being in each other's space. Last night – was it last night? Lance thinks there might be extra hours in there because Falos doesn't run on the same time cycle as the Castle ship – things were easier. They were high as kites, fresh off the claiming bite, and woke up together, basking in the afterglow. This is different. Here, in bed with Keith, they are sober, albeit tired. Conscious of each other and their physical proximity, careful with the new bond they share through the bite. 

Yep. This is going to be _really_ awkward, Lance thinks.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith and Lance wake up to their first morning on Falos and try to get to grips with the mission and their feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Somewhat short chapter, mainly to get the boys feelings in order. The next update should be on schedule again for a week, maybe two tops now I've organized myself ;)

Lance wakes the next morning like he usually does these days if there's not an emergency; consciousness rising to the surface gently. He lays there with his eyes closed, breathing steadily, and takes a mental catalogue of what's around him: soft sheets on a firm but comfortable mattress, a warm but heavy hand resting on his hip, a thumb rubbing circles into his hipbone, and a solid wall of muscle under his cheek, pressed along the length of his body.

_What?_

Lance blinks his eyes open, and yes, he remembers now; he's sleeping with Keith. Well, not actually _sleeping_ sleeping with Keith, because that's not part of the mission plan, no, but sleeping in the same bed, _pretending_ to be sleeping with Keith. Okay, okay, so none of that really makes sense, but -

"Lance, I can hear you thinking from here," says a soft, gravelly voice, still heavy with sleep.

_Dammit, busted,_ Lance thinks. He notices that Keith hasn't moved yet, hasn't stopped the very pleasant, rather distracting movement of his thumb against the dip of Lance's hipbone. It's somewhat similar to how they’d woken up after they’d bonded. Lance thinks he's maybe not going to mention it because, despite this being a mission, despite Keith rejecting him publically in front of the team and saying that Lance is not his omega; despite all of that, it's been too long since Lance has experienced a tender touch - a lover's touch - a touch that says he is precious and wanted. This is as close as he's gotten since they’d come into space almost a year ago. Sure, he gets all the bro hugs he could ever want from Pidge and Hunk, and he isn’t forgetting Shiro's pack Alpha patented soothing shoulder rub and neck squeeze (10/10 would totally recommend). Keith is different. They don't really touch at all, the legendary Bonding Moment (TM) aside. Being half dead and cradled in your rival’s arms totally doesn't count. Keith has touched him more in the last day and a half than throughout their whole acquaintance, so much so that Lance isn't quite sure how to respond now. He craves it, tries to pretend he doesn't want it, but he's lying to himself. 

"Lance?"

Might as well face the music. "Sorry, dude," Lance says, leaning up on one elbow and rubbing at his face. He should probably move away, but Keith hasn't actively tried to stab him yet, so. "Didn't mean to infringe on your space. Sometimes I spread out when I'm sleeping. I should have warned you."

"S'kay," Keith mumbles, and Lance drops his hand, staring at Keith's face. Because yes, he is staring at Keith's face, and so absolutely _not_ staring at Keith's very well developed pecs, thank you, or the way his torso tapers down to a trim waist below the sheets. Nope.

God, Lance thinks, he's having another gay crisis. Okay, nothing new there, but he's never actually had a gay crisis while in bed with someone - especially someone this hot. 

Keith looks mildly amused. He's definitely not freaking out like he was last night. It's confusing, because Lance had expected him to wake up the same way as he’d been when he’d gone to sleep: slightly panicky, a lot nervous, and stiff as a board. No - wait, not stiff as in rigid but stiff like nervous stiff. Lance's eyes dart down to Keith's crotch – it's like a subconscious compulsion once he's actually thought about it – and DUDE, he screams at himself internally, WHY DID YOU JUST DO THAT??! WHY??!

Keith's now smirking knowingly, and Lance lets out a frustrated groan and flops to the side, both hands over his face. "Um, I'm gonna get up now," Lance mutters into his hands.

"I can see that," Keith notes, and he tugs his arm from under Lance's neck. He pats Lance on the shoulder in a sort of sarcastic, yet comforting way. "I'll take the first shower while you... decompress."

Lance stares at the ceiling as he listens to Keith putter around in the washroom. _What the hell just happened_, Lance thinks. God, this mission is going to destroy him. Keith is going to destroy him. He's brilliant at keeping Lance off balance; he never knows which Keith he's going to get at any moment. This was never a problem before – before, Lance was always dealing with Regular Keith (slightly annoyed, very focused, socially awkward). Now, _now_ he's not even sure which Keith this is. Is this a new Keith? Keith 2.0? Alpha-bonded Keith? Oh god, is this some sort of alpha thing? Do other bonded alphas do this – this sort of weird hot and cold, sexed up-then-not routine? Or is Keith just pressing all Lance's buttons on purpose in some kind of nefarious payback for something? 

Lance takes a breath. Nope, he can rule out the last one. Keith's never sought revenge on Lance for anything, and that's why being rivals is fun. Keith's never tried to actively hurt Lance, probably because Lance knows he isn't really on his radar other than as a team mate.

He sighs again and sits up. All this thinking isn't really getting him anywhere. They need to focus on the mission, getting the information and getting back out safely. Everything else is really just background. Lance's stomach rumbles loudly and he rubs his belly. Sounds like it's time for breakfast.

* * *

In daylight the area surrounding the inn looks a lot different. The streets are cobbled but worn, hinting at this part of the city having had an impressive past. The street is lined with trees on the verge of blossoming; buds ready to burst with bright colors in the next few days. Lance can see why this festival is known as the _Festival of Falling Blossom_; it's going to look incredible when the blossoms do open.

The side road the inn is on fans out into two smaller roads with housing as it spreads towards the walls. Lance and Keith follow a cobbled north-south lane toward the city centre north of the lake, and start to run into crowded two and three story buildings, the majority of which have small shops and services located on the ground floors. At this small intersection alone Lance can see an eatery, a pottery shop, a bakery and, a little further down near a fountain, a laundry, not to mention an enterprising guy with a snack cart offering fresh squid on a stick. Most of the shops are open to the street with colorful awnings across the pavement to provide shade, and the whole intersection has a festive air.

"This is the sort of place that will be ideal for observing people and anything that looks out of the ordinary," Lance whispers, leaning into Keith's side. Keith drops his arm around Lance's waist, pulling him closer like he would a lover - or a bonded mate.

"It would be better if we could find a bar," Keith says quietly into the fine hair behind Lance's ear. "Everyone knows alcohol loosens tongues."

Lance resists the urge to lean in, to goad Keith into doing more than breathing against his skin, and instead says, "That would be a good plan for tonight then. The festival has only just gotten started; we can use tonight as a good jump off point to get out and 'celebrate'."

"Agreed." Keith pauses and then pulls back enough to stare down the street, but he doesn't release Lance from his embrace. "You wanna find a decent place around here to get breakfast?"

Lance nods. "Yeah, I'm starving."

Keith removes his arm and takes Lance by the hand, tugging him along. Lance lets Keith lead; he's happy to follow, soaking in the buildings and the people that move between them. It's just as Lance thought; there doesn't appear to be a specific type of clothing he can associate directly with the Falosians. They wear a polyglot of clothing styles borrowed from other planets and peoples. Fashion isn't localized to the planet; he can see a lot of people wearing garments he's seen on other worlds before. There's even a guy by a fruit stand wearing what looks like an Olkari shirt, but he's clearly anything but. This planet is not quarantined in the slightest; it trades and communicates with all manner of other planets and cities in the galaxy – the universe. 

He's also noticed that, with the start of the festival, a lot of the omega are starting to really show off their necks and shoulders. Lance has seen more bare napes and shoulders in the last hour than he's seen in six months. Some omega wear their hair piled up on their heads in complicated styles, laced with flowers. Some flaunt their claiming marks and bond-bites with jewelry that sparkles; long earrings with flashing stones or thin gold chains around their necks that catch the sunlight. Keith sees him watching a tall omega with earcuffs; she wears them in a row, connecting chains that drip down in long, swaying arcs as she walks. There's a part of Lance – probably his newly emerging omega – who very much likes the look, and wants to show off his own bond-bite. The other part of Lance, the Paladin, the human, wants to hide the delicate skin at his nape and not draw attention to it.

It takes Lance a moment to realize that he has no idea where they are; while he was watching people, Keith has led them down a warren of small lanes and side-streets. They are in a pleasant little intersection with a fountain now. Two small children play in the water, while their mothers gossip off to the side. Just down the street is an eatery, and this is where Keith seems to be leading them.

The eatery is on the corner of the building, and the counter is topped with a wide slab of marble set with two holes recessed into the top. When Lance leans on the counter and looks down, he can see pots set flush into the holes. One of them holds dried fruit, the other a collection of what looks like wrapped food: meat of some kind with a nut filling surrounded by leaves of what he's going to guess is the Falosian equivalent of lettuce.

The server looks a little harried when he finally appears from the back room. "What can I get you?" he asks, throwing the towel he was using over his shoulder and leaning his hands on the counter.

"I'll have one of that," Keith says, pointing at the lettuce-wrap thing in the urn.

The man nods. "And for your partner?"

_Here we go_, Lance thinks bitterly. He barely resists the urge to roll his eyes, knowing he's going to get talked over.

Instead, Keith nudges him with his hip gently, a point of contact no doubt designed to soothe. "What do you want to eat, Lance?"

Lance doesn't actually like the idea of the lettuce-wrap. "I'll have the bread and baked cheese," he says. Today's specialties are listed on a hand-chalked sign painted onto the eatery's supporting pillar, along with – "Oh, and I wanna try that honeyed bark water, Keith. It sounds weird."

Keith (and the server) both look at Lance, although Keith is the one to raise an eyebrow. "Really?"

"Yep." Lance smirks and crosses his arms. Okay, so he's definitely still high key salty over the whole ignore-your-omega thing. He lets a thread of irritation spill over the bond between them, making sure Keith gets the point. Interestingly enough, he's able to also imbue the feeling with another layer, letting Keith know that the irritation is not aimed at him specifically.

Keith blinks at Lance a couple of times, seeming to absorb what Lance is attempting to express via the bond, and then he turns back to the server. "Um, so we'll take the baked cheese and bread and also two honey bark water… things, please."

While they wait for the food, Keith fiddles around in his pocket for change to pay the server with. The Falosians use GAC as currency on major and legal purchases, but the preferred method of every day currency are these mismatched, oddly random little pieces of what feel like tin, stamped with a horned deer on it. Some of the smaller denominations have a temple stamped on them, or a tree, and in one case what might be a fish, although it's so worn it's hard to tell.

They stand at the counter, eating breakfast, watching people go by. Their server brings out a jug of steaming water and places it on a hot plate off to one side, and then sets about doing the equivalent of making tea; mixing and straining shredded bark into a small sieve, pouring the water over it so it steeps, and then adding honey. He pushes the clay cups toward Lance and Keith, nods, and then goes off to serve another customer at the other counter.

Lance is the first to give it a go. He takes a careful sip, and then another. "Oh, wow, this is actually really good. You need to try this."

Keith takes a sip from his cup and makes an agreeable sound. "It's not horrible."

"That is so typical of you," Lance laughs. "The glass is neither half full nor half empty." The bread and baked cheese looks divine, and melty, and it tastes awesome when Lance digs in. He could get used to fresh food like this again, hell yeah. 

As Lance is polishing off the last wedge of bread and cheese, the server comes back. "Are you both attending the festival?" he asks Keith. 

Keith nods. "We are."

The server nods. "Looking to get pregnant, I take it," he says sagely, nodding toward Lance. "Your mate's a little lean, but I don’t think you'll have any problems once you've gifted Ashea with something special. He's quite fond of donations."

Lance chokes on the last bite of cheese and reaches blindly for his cup of bark tea. Keith leans over casually and pats Lance on the back; the third time it's more of a whack because Lance's eyes are still watering and his indignation is preventing him from swallowing the last of his meal. (Not something he's ever had a problem with, to be honest).

Once he's swallowed, Lance clears his throat. "Would you ask our kind host when and where we might find a nice establishment for drinks this evening?" he says to Keith in a sickly sweet voice. Lance is pretty sure that his smile might actually be sharper than Keith's luxite blade.

Keith stares at Lance, still rubbing his back. "Are you serious?" he whispers at Lance. "You actually want me to ask him that when he heard what you said? Like we are all five and not speaking to each other?"

Lance raises an eyebrow. "I heard what he said but he won't talk to me, so, yes."

Lance can see Keith attempting to gather his patience, then he seems to deflate and bow to the inevitable. "My mate would like to know if there's a good bar around here where we can have drinks."

The server smiles at Keith, pretending he hadn't heard the entire exchange. "You might try Flora's Caupona. Got a nice patio in the rear garden and not a bad reputation. Good spiced wine, too. Tell her I sent you; you'll find her on the small square three blocks north of here. It’s got a fountain with three copper fish and a statue of what looks like a man buggering a dolphin."

"_Buggering_ a d– " Lance starts.

"C'mon, we're leaving," Keith squeaks, clearly having reached his limit for bullshit, judging by the way he's gone red in the face and how he won't make eye contact with either Lance or the server. He throws a couple of tin coins down on the counter and drags Lance off toward the main street. "We're going shopping."

* * *

Keith is apparently a man on a mission. Lance struggles to keep up with him. Keith is striding ahead, his aura of general discomfort (and glare) clearing a wide swathe of street in front of them. Lance is actually starting to get a little concerned because, while he and the gang are used to Keith in Annoyed Mode, the rest of the universe is not.

"Keith, slow down!" Lance jogs to catch up with Keith, snagging him by the wrist. "What the hell, dude?"

"Did you actually just _dude_ me after everything I went through back there?" Keith exclaims, swinging back around and crossing his arms. 

"Um, yeah? You are being totally unreasonable here and people are going to think we are arguing which is – " Lance doesn't get to finish the sentence, because Keith snags _him_ by the wrist this time and, despite a small crowd of overly-interested bystanders, pulls Lance toward the nearest narrow alleyway. He effortlessly flicks his wrist and Lance's back is suddenly against the plaster of the wall. Keith’s hand smacks against the wall on one side of Lance's shoulder, and he leans in.

_Okay, so highly compromising position_, Lance thinks. Also – being manhandled by Keith? He remembers when Keith had done that to him when he’d bonded him; flipped him around without even breaking a sweat. It was damn hot then and it’s damn hot now. Lance can no more help the flush of arousal that colours his cheekbones than he could then. Keith seems to notice – maybe he can feel something through the bond, because whatever he was going to say doesn't make it past his lips. Instead he frowns, pushing back carefully at the link, testing his interpretation of what he thinks Lance is feeling. It makes Lance pause for the second time this morning, to mentally step back and examine how Keith must be feeling. Lance's normal knee-jerk reaction is just to prod at Keith to see if he can get a rise out of him, but it's clear that both of them are feeling stress, not only from the mission and being in a new place and world, but with having to navigate around each other and this new bond.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Lance. I don't know how to read the bond yet; I don't know how to read you." Keith pauses, gaze unfocused for a moment as his frustration shows in a small frown between his eyebrows. His fingers tighten on the wall next to Lance's shoulder, and then release. "Okay, so maybe some of that is my fault; I'm not exactly gifted when it comes to making friends."

Lance lets out a long, cleansing breath. "I'm sorry for taking my anger out on you," he begins. He looks away, because Keith has an intense stare when he's attentive, and sometimes it's a little overwhelming, okay? "I should apologize," he continues. "I'm on edge. The mission - this undercover stuff is a lot different than the missions and things we usually do. I'm not used to hiding behind a mask, behind a persona."

"But this persona is you?" Keith says. "I don't understand?"

"Okay." Lance tries to think how to explain things. It's a little hard while he's pressed against a wall in a narrow alleyway. "I wasn't expecting the social hierarchy to suck so much. It's like, I'm still me but I'm _less_. I'm just a little frustrated that I can't express myself directly due to the social constraints on this godforsaken planet. That I can only be a person when I'm _not_ around you. When you guys asked for my help, I thought that this mission could be fun, a good way for us to connect as teammates." He looks down for a moment, staring at their feet. "I think that, sometimes, we bring out the worst in each other, even when we don't mean to."

Keith smiles; it's soft and hesitant. "We sort of bring the awkward a lot, don't we?"

Lance feels a sense of calm flow through him and realizes it's coming down the bond from Keith. It makes him feel warm and safe, and it has distinct layers of affection flowing through it. It makes Lance suck in a shaky breath, and he lets the bond flow through him, opening himself up to it. He pushes a tendril of hope back at Keith, his trust in him as mission leader, the desire to be closer to Keith as a person, a friend, and then he tentatively extends his hand. The bond is new to them both, strange and different, and Lance needs the physical touch. He’s always used it to communicate, so he takes a chance and, telegraphing his move so that Keith knows it’s deliberate, reaches out to Keith, letting soothing energy flow through the bond, letting his vulnerability show as he lets his hand fall gently onto Keith’s shoulder. He then slides his hand back until he's touching the delicate nape of his neck beneath his hair, lets his fingers stroke over the skin, over his scent glands, and watches Keith's eyes flutter shut, lips parting slightly as he leans into the touch.

Watching Keith relax so completely is a heady thing; something to treasure. Lance has done _this_; his touch has soothed his alpha. When Keith opens his eyes, he looks a little dazed. His spine arches and he pushes into Lance's touch as he strokes over his neck, and Lance can almost see the moment his touch goes from soothing to something more complicated. Keith licks his lips, a thoughtful glance on his face as he watches Lance and then he steps closer, hand dropping from the wall to Lance's waist, tugging him nearer.

Lance's heartrate picks up, his hand tightening around Keith's neck. There's a sudden pause between them, each weighing their actions, letting the bond flow from both sides, a mixture of half-formed emotions swirling between them. It's arousing. Dangerous.

Keith steps between Lance's legs, nuzzling into his neck, breathing deeply of his scent. Lance can't help the shuddering breath he releases, his fingers tightening roughly against Keith's nape. Keith mutters something about Lance's scent, and his lips brush against Lance's skin. It's the closest they've been since the bonding – both emotionally and physically – and Lance feels almost high again, high on the prospect of being closer, of having _more_. To assuage the need suddenly coursing through his body. 

They can't do this. Not here. Not now. He nudges back down the bond, sends a gentle apology, an acknowledgement of the new peace between them, the promise of more later, and Keith sends a sort of affectionate but awkward agreement back across the bond. As if in total harmony, Keith steps back, giving Lance room to move away.

It's like sound and heat and light and smell rush back; as if he was wrapped so totally in Keith and what he is at his core that everything else had simply faded away. The alleyway, the street, the market, the city, the planet. Keith was, for a moment, everything to Lance, and that is both a terrifying realization and an exciting one. One that, in a different place and time, would be wholly welcome. Lance wants to explore that, and it seems that Keith might too.

Keith clears his throat softly. "We should get moving. We have no idea what we are looking for still, and we should use the time as much as we can to try to resolve what the hell this place is hiding."

Lance nods. Agrees completely. Because the quicker they get a lead, the more time they can dedicate to the bond and what it means for them.

This time when Keith reaches for Lance's hand, his grip is firm. This is not holding hands for the sake of the mission now, instead, they are holding hands because they are a team, they are a pair, and for better or worse, right now, they are bonded. And, as if in acknowledgement of that, the bond settles between them and crystalizes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are very much appreciated! Thanks for reading! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance and Keith kick off the festivities by indulging in some local traditions, and then head out the next day to do some recon in the town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, this chapter officially puts me over 100k words I've written this year! :)
> 
> This is a monster chapter. I'm not sorry: this is my usual M.O. I was just trying to keep the chapters in this story to a more reasonable 5k. Fail. XD

Shopping is exhausting, Lance decides. Or maybe it's not so much the shopping, but rather, the emotional dance playing out between him and Keith. Earlier, he'd managed to prod Keith into quite the reaction, judging by the way he'd dragged Lance into the alleyway. What it had done was to make Lance confront his own hopes and feelings, and to lay it out both through the bond and in words. Now he and Keith are on the same page – he hopes – and they can get on with the mission.

Tonight they're going to attend the official opening celebration of the festival. To that end, they spent time shopping in the markets. Lance wanted to get another set of clothes more suited for the festival, because god knows he's not going to miss an opportunity to dress up. It'll be like old times – heading out to the bar with his friends and having fun. Keith had gone off on his own for a little bit while Lance had sorted through clothing options, and when Lance had asked him what he'd been doing, Keith had looked a little secretive. Lance is cool with that; he couldn't feel much through the bond, but what he could pick up on felt… excited? Mischievous? Lance is horribly curious but, despite Keith disappearing to shower, Lance can't bring it upon himself to go searching and ruin the surprise.

Lance swaps out with Keith in the bathroom, washes up and does his hair, getting it artfully messy, just right so that it looks unintentional. He slips into the pants he'd bought – black, tight, shows off his ass perfectly – and realizes he's left his new shirt out on the bed_. Oh no, I'm gonna have to walk across the room half naked in front of Keith_, he thinks sarcastically, smirking in the mirror. Part of him wants to preen, to see how Keith reacts. Lance is quite addicted to their little games, the tells Keith has, the way he tries to hide his reactions by calling Lance's bluff.

He opens the door to the bathroom and steps out. It's a matter of seconds before he realizes this is one of those moments where he's miscalculated. Keith is half dressed, wearing similar tight pants and a sheer black sleeveless shirt that shows off his very defined biceps and triceps. The shirt has a v-neck, dips low at the front, and in the right light Lance can just make out the shadow of his nipples through the sheer material. Keith's final parting shot is to leave the bottom undone, so that his navel and the happy trail beneath is visible where it disappears into his pants.

Lance is _soooooo_ fucked. Ho shit. He's knows he's been caught staring when he licks his lips, and Keith's eyes dart down to his mouth quickly before he smirks at Lance. "You forgot your shirt," Keith adds unnecessarily.

"Yeah, uh, thanks," Lance manages to reply. He raises his chin, because he's _Loverboy_ Lance McClain, and he has game, hell yes. He stalks across the room to the bed, grabbing at the flimsy material of his shirt. When he turns around, Keith is right behind him. "Jesus," Lance breaths out. "Keith, dude, are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Only returning the favour," Keith says with an eyebrow raise, making a point of totally checking Lance out. There's that mischievous feeling coming down through the bond again, Lance notices. That thread of excitement, mixed now with a bit of apprehension.

When the moment stretches, Lance shifts, moving to pull his shirt over his head. He can feel Keith's eyes on him, probably watching the shift of his stomach muscles and hips, because if their roles were reversed, that's totally what Lance would be doing. He gives the shirt a final tug, and then Keith is turning him so that Lance's back is to him, and Lance feels Keith's fingers, cool and firm, against his lower back, pulling the shirt down into place, smoothing out the flimsy blue fabric so it lays properly. The shirt has a low back that meets in a V near mid-spine, the style designed to accent Lance's bonding bite. When Lance had seen the shirt he’d known that he wanted it – not only because he knew he'd look good in it, but because it would show off Keith's mark. This is a massive paradigm shift in thinking for Lance – he's not one hundred percent comfortable with exposing the delicate nape of his neck yet, but the omega side that is rising to the surface definitely wants to show it off. Lance had decided to go with it, because this is a festival to celebrate life and joy, and Lance wants to be part of that.

He's not prepared for Keith to trail the pads of his fingers delicately up his spine, the touch careful and reverent. He's not prepared for those fingers to divert, stroking gently across his scent gland and the bonding mark before dropping away. It sends a surge of aching desire through Lance and he sucks in a shaky breath, trying to get his reaction under control.

"I felt that," Keith stutters out. His voice is soft, a little broken. "I felt that through the bond." He reaches out again, but Lance hasn't gotten his senses back yet. When Keith repeats the gesture, Lance turns, watches Keith's face over his shoulder. This time the new wave of desire layers over the first; it's not separate from the first time, only adds to it. Lance watches in awe as Keith's eyes lid, his lips part.

Shit. Lance cannot let Keith do that again, not yet. Now isn't the time, unfortunately. He turns fully, grasps Keith by the wrist gently, tugs him close enough to lean in and scent him. It's instinctual; he doesn’t realize he's done it until he registers Keith's body heat against his, his hand on Lance's waist. It takes him another second to realize he's half-hard from the touches to his scent gland and the bonding mark, and that Keith's in the same predicament. Keith's scent washes over him, a primal, musky scent that’s addicting as hell, and Lance leans in closer, lips brushing Keith's neck.

The knock at the door is jarring as hell, snapping Lance out of the moment instantly and sending him stumbling backward. Keith startles as well, stepping back, gaze locked with Lance's. The air is charged; tight with a frisson of dangerous need between them. It takes a few seconds, but Keith lets out a noise of annoyance that sounds partly like a growl, and tears his eyes from Lance. He stalks to the door, pulling it open.

Lance feels like a puppet with its strings cut; without the all-encompassing attention of his alpha, he is momentarily lost. Lance has never felt like this before with anyone. He's not sure if it's because of the bond, or because he's letting his omega side take more of the reins. He pulls in a shaky breath and sits on the edge of the bed, feeling a little shell-shocked. He can hear Keith in the background, making small talk, and then the door shutting and latching.

"Lance? Hey, Lance, you okay?" Keith sits next to Lance on the bed, placing a small drawstring bag to one side.

Lance looks up, manages a smile. Now that the mood has been broken, he feels a little less out of control, less like he's tipping toward something momentous and life-altering from which there's no coming back. Not that the life-altering shift is a bad thing, but maybe not great timing when they're in the middle of a mission with the universe at stake. "I'm good," Lance replies. "You ready to head out?"

"Yeah, in a sec." Keith drags the drawstring bag toward him, holding it up. "I got you something. The stall holder dropped it off just now because it wasn't ready earlier." Keith nods toward the door.

"You got me a gift?" Lance blurts out. Holy shit.

Keith smirks. "I did. I thought you might like to wear it for tonight."

"Uh, wow. Thanks?" Lance is lost for words – doesn't happen often, let's face it. He waits for Keith to gesture with his hand, and then unties the drawstring on the bag, shaking the contents out onto his palm. It's a gold cuff for his ear, the gold cut with filigree, a single, small blue teardrop shaped gem hanging from it, catching the light from the lamp in the room. Lance sucks in a breath, and stares at Keith. "You got me – " he can't quite articulate what he wants to say. Nobody has ever bought him jewelry before.

Keith seems to sense Lance's inability to express himself, and Lance feels warmth and peace flow through the bond, soothing him, letting him know it's okay. Keith reaches out and taps Lance's finger with his ring on it. "I saw you earlier admiring some of the omega on the street, and the jewelry they wore. You seemed interested in the cuffs some of them had." Keith's face heats with a soft blush. "Then I saw your ring, and thought it might be nice if you had something that matched. While you were looking at shirts I spotted this, and had the gem added. You know, blue being your colour and all that."

Lance is aware he's sitting there with his mouth parted, gaping a bit like a fish. He shakes himself, snaps his jaw shut. "Keith you – I don't know what to say. Thank you." He pauses. "Sorry, we're gonna have to hug it out now," he adds.

Keith grins. "I figured." This time, when they hug, everything is different. Gone is the lust, the animalistic need, replaced now with a soft understanding, a happiness between them, acceptance. This is so different; it reminds Lance of their first morning when he’d woken in Keith's arms, before Keith had gone into panic mode and freaked out. "I, um, got something else," Keith adds.

Lance pulls out of the hug, and eyes Keith suspiciously. "Okay, so did you give me the cuff first because I'm gonna get annoyed with whatever this is?"

Keith's eyes widen and he holds up his hands. "No! No, we're good. I think."

Lance watches Keith while he attaches the cuff to his ear. He can feel the slight weight of the gem as it swings when he moves his head. "How does it look?"

Keith moves to the side. "I like it. You can look in the mirror when we are done here."

"Keeeeith," Lance whines. "Why are you like this? Just tell me what's going on."

Keith takes a breath. He reaches behind him to the side table and pulls out a pot of what looks like paint and a small brush. "So, there's this other custom I may have heard about in the market while I was buying the cuff," Keith explains. "Every night of the festival, an alpha paints his omega, adding to it each time, culminating in the celebration of the Night of Song."

"Night of Song?"

"Yeah, I'm not really sure what that's about. I'm guessing there's some sort of singing involved, obviously," Keith muses. "Anyway, it's part of the whole fertility ritual thing so I thought we should probably do it."

"You know I'm not actually trying to get pregnant, Keith," Lance deadpans. "We can probably skip this step." Because, oh shit, Lance cannot imagine spending a chunk of every evening before they head out lying there on the bed, letting Keith paint his mostly naked body with what appears to be gold paint. Lance will die of unresolved sexual tension long before they make it to the Night of Song or whatever the hell it is. Nope. No way. Not going to happen.

"We start off small and add to it every night," Keith adds, giving the paint pot a quick shake. "You wanna lay on the bed and I'll get started?"

Lance stares Keith down. Checks the bond for what he's feeling, but it's blank. Lance can't get a read on him. He should be worried about that, but it's Keith; he trusts Keith with his life. He sighs. "If you write _Property of the Blade of Marmora_ on my ass I will kill you," Lance says.

Keith smirks and stands up, holding out a hand. Lance takes it with a sigh. "How do you want me?"

* * *

Dusk is settling over Nara by the time they make it to the main square near the town centre. Keith wanted to catch the procession and get a peek at the administrative buildings, and it appears they've only just made it in time. The streets are lined with people, talking and laughing. The parade doesn't appear to be the focus of the evening; in fact, it appears to be having problems keeping pace because drunken party goers keep wandering into the streets and throwing blossoms at the participants.

Despite it only being mid-evening, Lance already feels wrung out. He's dealt with too many conflicting and differing emotions today and he just wants to get a drink and relax. He's a little worked up, a bit horny due to having to lie there while Keith, humming to himself, had taken his sweet ass time to paint Lance gold. Okay, okay, so that's an exaggeration, Lance knows it. Keith's initial paint job was far less grandiose than he had expected – Keith had explained that the embellishment was how an alpha showed off his omega. The paint was a sign of ownership, yes, because the designs were individual to the pair. It was both an acknowledgement of the bond and a mark of being a bonded pair. 

So, Lance is currently sporting bands of paint around his biceps, because Keith thinks Lance's arms are sexy, and he has a series of small dots down his spine, only visible because of the style of Lance's shirt, exposing his upper back. Keith hadn't gone further than what his brush could reach without removing clothing, and Lance has to admit he's a little disappointed. He has no doubt that Keith is going to get a little more creative (and hopefully handsy) by the time they get to tomorrow night. Also, Lance purposely hasn't asked Keith what his plans are for the paint design, because half the fun of this is the surprise. He wonders if Keith realizes that this is a sort of foreplay, and then shakes his head, because _of course_ Keith does. He’s far from stupid.

Lance is drawn back to the present by the muffled sound of hooves on the flagstones. He pulls Keith closer, eager to see what's going on with the parade but unwilling to lose Keith in the press of bodies. There's some shuffling at the head of the procession, and then Lance pulls back, gesturing to Keith. Leading the rest of the parade is a Galra – imposing, full of his own self-importance, towering above the locals by at least a head. This is the Governor of Falos – Holkar. He's one of the cat-like Galra, with smooth purple skin. He appears to have settled nicely into his role of Governor; this is the first time Lance has seen a Galra go, for want of a better word, _native_. He's dressed like the majority of the upper classes on Falos, in a tunic with decorated borders and weighed down with gold rings and bangles. He's followed by the rest of his Galra entourage, which Lance remembers Rax explaining about back on the castle ship.

The crowd don't seem to be really put out by the arrival of the Galra; they are a part of everyday life here on Falos and not very noteworthy.

"Is that an actual _deer_?" Keith interrupts Lance's musing, pointing down the street. 

Lance squints. "I think so?" he says. The animal is led by a number of priests and acolytes, clearly belonging to the Temple of Ashea. "Actually, it's a stag. It's got the rack of antlers. Damn that's a lot of antler; I wouldn't want to be standing near that."

The stag in question is bedecked in blossoms and ribbons. It wears (_wear_ being a euphemism for the word 'tolerate') a collar of blossoms around its neck and shoulders, and its hooves are painted gold, along with the massive rack of horns on its head, which are also decorated with ribbons. Two acolytes struggle to keep the stag moving forward; it spends most of the time trying to toss its head to the side, and/or eat the blossoms being thrown. 

"Looks like the god is a little impatient," Lance whispers in Keith's ear, hearing him snort in response.

Keith wraps his arm around Lance's waist. "Want to go find the bar? I don't think we'll miss much here, to be honest."

Lance nods. "Yeah, I wanna show off my paint." He winks.

Keith rolls his eyes but looks sort of… pleased? "Come on then, let's get you a drink. What was it? Flora's Caupona?"

Lance makes a show of trying to remember. "Ah, yeah, I think so." He stares at Keith. "Wasn't it near the fountain with the dolphin that looks like its getting buggered?

"Shit," Keith says, shaking his head. "I'm never gonna live that down, am I?"

"Nope. In fact, I will still be bringing this up at any and all diplomatic functions for years to come. Just so you know." 

Lance lets Keith tug him away from the procession and back into the darkened side streets.

* * *

After a quick breakfast of boiled eggs and cheese, Lance leaves the inn shortly after Keith. Keith has gone off on a two-fold exercise this morning. One; to see if he can tail any of the high ranking Galra they saw last night in the procession, and two, if his luck holds, to get inside the main administrative buildings and do some recon. Keith's going to have to employ most of the stealth and infiltration skills he's obtained with the Blade if he does succeed; neither of them should forget that, even if this society _appears_ to have only basic technology, they should not assume the same of the Galra that are on planet. Just the thought of Keith running into trouble has Lance wound tight, the sort of worried ache that always precedes a mission before the adrenaline and the near-death experiences kick in. Lance is careful to keep a lid on most of it, to lock it down so that his worry doesn't work its way down the link between them. For what's it's worth, Keith appears to have done the same – the equivalent of radio silence over the bond.

Lance takes a deep breath to center himself. He has the Blade's map tucked into his pants pocket, and he wants to at least spend some time today trying to verify the information on it. Most of the hand-written notations are in some kind of Blade shorthand code, which Keith is still learning. He had been able to decipher some of it this morning when Lance had taken it out and shown it to him, but unless one of them magically manages to absorb Blade cipher through osmosis, it's pretty much useless. Still, Lance isn't giving up; it's about the only solid article they have related to the mission and he's going to take everything he can get at this point. 

He's decided he's going to try to find some high ground within the town walls, and see if he can't get a proper layout of the place and <strike>see</strike> how it compares to the map. When they’d flown over the town in the Green Lion, everything had been laid out far below, making details hard to note. One place in particular does immediately draw attention as soon as you get out of the crush and into the parkland and open spaces: the Temple of Ashea. Even from here – among the press of festival goers, the two- and three-storied buildings – the temple is visible as a distant, white blur crowning the highest hill, the dark red tiles that top the oval structure giving it a hunched, brooding air that seems out of place amongst the blossoms.

Because this morning, all the trees are in bloom. The air is full of the sweet, heady scent of perfume, rich florals warring with woody undertones as the air heats. The sky is perfect; no clouds to mar the view, a deep, clean blue that fades to almost purple-blue the higher you look. It's the only real indication that this is not actually Earth, but rather a completely alien planet galaxies away from the only home that Lance has known until this point. For a moment, it's jarring, and Lance pauses, stepping out of the flow of traffic and into the shade of a shop awning, giving himself a moment to acclimatize.

He checks in with the bond, not expecting anything really, and isn’t surprised when he gets only a background impression of Keith; solid, focused, on goal – right up until Lance feels a little push back, a tendril of what he can only describe as fondness, and something a little more that he can't quite get a handle on yet.

Glad that Keith appears to be okay, Lance steps back out into the bustle of the street and works his way through the market in the town center and out toward where the parkland surrounds the lake. They’d never made it this far the day they’d arrived, and yesterday he and Keith were more concerned with obtaining supplies in the market than wandering around. Lance has to admit that the parkland is nice; acres of rolling grass and the bright pink and whites of the blossoming trees that dot the landscape. In the distance, Lance can see what looks like an amphitheatre of sorts cut into the hill just below the soaring cliffs of the mountain range that butt up against the town fortifications. Rows of seating are carved into the hillside, offering a view on the parkland and a vast, walled area that Lance can't see into from his position where he stands at the edge of the lake. 

_Is this something to do with what we are looking for_, he wonders. He's half considering seeing if he can follow the line of the wall, seeing if he can find a way inside. _Reality check, McClain_, he warns himself. _It's the middle of the day. You are one man – albeit a fabulous, fabulous individual, but you do not have rock climbing or wall-scaling skills. Stick with what you know._ Lance makes a mental note to talk with Keith about the amphitheatre, and then strolls along the shore of the lake until he's back on the main paved street. The ground starts to rise slightly toward the hill with the Temple of Ashea perched on the top, and eventually the street becomes a series of wide steps that make the climb less of a slog and more of an exercise in stretching your calf muscles properly. (Which Lance did _not_ do earlier, because he had no idea he was going to need to do this sort of climbing. Seriously, what the hell? Why does every supposed interaction with gods and deities require an insane level of physical toil?)

By the time Lance makes it to the top of the hill, his calves are screaming, he has a fine layer of sweat prickling at his lower back and the nape of his neck, and he's hungry. He doesn't even want to imagine what his complexion looks like – is he red in the face? Blotchy? Oh god, what if his skin _is_ blotchy? Fortunately, the outer precinct of the temple has a stone walkway flanked on either side by matching gazing pools, and that's exactly what Lance does – marches the fuck over to the nearest one and leans over the railing as far as he can. Luckily, things don't seem to be too dire; he's not splotchy after all, but the climb hasn't done his hair any favours. He runs his fingers through it quickly, attempting to get it back to the artfully messy way he usually wears it. _Okay, you can live with this_, he thinks. _It's not the end of the world_.

It's then that he feels a hesitant touch to his elbow. He pulls himself back from the stone railing and turns around, where he finds himself only a few steps from a young woman. 

"Excuse me, but is everything okay?" she asks. "I saw you leaning far out over the blossom pool. I thought for a moment you might fall in." She laughs nervously.

Lance is about to handwave it off and continue on his way, but he pauses for a split second. It might be useful to have some local knowledge of the place rather than just working off of observation and supposition, which—from experience—can hinder rather than help. He runs his hand through his hair again, and adopts a sheepish, slightly embarrassed expression. "Yeah, sorry about that. I thought I dropped something in there."

"Oh no! Did you want some help?" the woman asks, leaning against the railing and peering down into the still water. Lance watches a brightly colored purple fish swim by, followed by a small shoal of black and gold fish that look like earth koi.

"No, I'll consider it a donation to the god," Lance says, careful to keep his tone light and carefree. He doesn't want her thinking his imaginary loss is more important than something throwaway should be. 

She glances at him for a moment, appearing to size him up. He watches as she comes to some kind of decision; her shoulders drop and she relaxes, clearly deciding he's not a threat. Her eyes glance quickly at the paint on his biceps and then his neck, further confirming her decision when she sees he's bonded. She smiles for the first time at him, a small, delicate thing that Lance can read easily; she's not used to expressing herself in public very often, it seems. Lance wonders why that is, but he doesn't want to outright ask her. It would be considered rude on earth and, he imagines, also here.

"Would you like to walk with me and my sister?" she asks. "We are going to offer our donations to the god inside. My sister wants a child," she adds, gesturing with a hand to another woman who is waiting under one of the trees nearby. 

The other woman strolls over, raising a hand in greeting and a nod. "Greetings, traveller," she says.

Lance waves. He's heard this greeting before – from the desk clerk at the inn when they arrived – but he's not sure if this is a normal greeting or if she's just assuming he is just that, a traveller here for the festival. "Hi," he offers instead. "I'm Lance, nice to meet you." He does refrain from pulling out what Pidge refers to as '_100-watt Lance_', complete with fingers guns and sparkles, but its hard work resisting. He needs to keep a low profile.

The two women nod in greeting and, as a group, they begin to walk along the stone path to the front doors of the temple. As they walk, they talk, filling Lance in on their histories. The first woman he'd met – the one that had touched his elbow as he’d leaned over the railing – her name is Rial, and her sister is Malo. Malo wants a baby, it turns out. She's newly mated and wishes to please her alpha with a child. Rial has two children already. Her alpha is _difficult_, she explains with a frown, lines pinched between her eyes.

It's that phrase – _difficult_ – that suddenly makes Lance realize these are actual people he's dealing with. It’s a stupid thing to notice, if he's being honest. Of course they are real people; he knows that. But when you start to interact with a person on more than a very casual level, people get layers. They become complicated. Feeling, thinking, reacting beings. It doesn't matter if they are humanoid, Altean, Galra, or a twenty-five arm tentacle being, once you interact with them they become… _more_. You start to attach your impressions of them onto that person, along with your own personality as they interact with you. 

And Lance doesn't like that hesitant word that Rial uses – _difficult_. It's an understatement. It implies pain on her part, along with an equally abhorrent acceptance of her circumstances. Malo doesn't seem to react to Rial's admission, meaning it's either a not unusual state of affairs for Rial, or for omega on this planet. Lance isn't sure which one, if he's being honest. He simply doesn't have enough information to know either way.

"What about you?" Rial asks Lance, skillfully redirecting the conversation.

Lance buries his concern for now, and smiles. He can feel a faint blush stain his cheeks when he thinks about Keith, imagining them as an actual mated pair. It'll never happen, but he can pretend to keep up appearances, right?

"Ah, you are in love!" Malo sighs dramatically, skipping a step as they approach the temple doors. They pass through the giant gates without incident, into the inner courtyard, and move to the side out of the way of the flow of foot traffic. "Tell us about your alpha," she coos. "Rial, look how he blushes. Adorable!"

Okay, so now Lance is blushing even more, because she's noticed. He feels a little curl of delight in his stomach, a warmth of belonging for just a split second. Maybe this is an omega thing? A sort of group thing? He doesn't know, because he's repressed his omega side for a long time now, what with the suppressants and the state of opinion regarding gendered culture on earth. "Um, his name is Keith," Lance manages to squeak out. God, he is _so_ glad nobody can see him now, Jesus. "He's…very strong."

What

The

Absolute

Fucking

_Hell_ was that just now?! His brain screams at him.

_Lance. Dude. Seriously? You're gonna describe your dearly bonded crazy-ass half-Galra secret assassin / Paladin / fake husband-boyfriend with the weird haircut as _'strong'_, McClain? Get a grip_, he bellows at himself internally. On the outside, he blushes again, and _oh boy_, he can feel the hesitant but hopeful smile hovering at the corner of his mouth.

"Ohhh, you are so smitten, it's adorable," Malo gushes at Rial, touching Lance on the elbow and patting him.

Lance can suddenly feel Keith at the other end of the bond, like he's checking in. He feels curious; curious about all these emotions Lance must suddenly be broadcasting. _Shit_. The truth is, the bond is hard to keep a handle on; maybe, because Lance is distracted interacting with other people, he isn't experienced enough yet to be able to control what he broadcasts down it. Or maybe it's because he's talking and thinking about Keith that Keith is able to pick up on it. 

Regardless, Keith feels horribly curious, a little embarrassed, sort of happy and a bit –

And then he's gone, like he suddenly realized Lance was onto him and shut it down. It hurts a little bit, but Lance knows that if he's unable to control his end, then its likely that Keith hasn't gotten a handle on controlling the bond either. Maybe he shut down because he was busy suddenly? Did he run into something he needs to keep his whole attention and focus on? Lance hopes he's okay.

"We're newly bonded," Lance says, hoping that will be explanation enough.

Both Rial and Malo nod, like Lance's sudden blushy-happy outburst suddenly makes sense. "And you are visiting the festival because you want to conceive?" Malo asks. "Is this your first time?"

"I bet your babies will be adorable," Rial says.

Lance does not want to think about babies, fuck no. He does not want to think about having them, caring for them, or damn it, giving birth to them. Neither does he want to think about waddling around like a half-ton of angry hormonal bitch for five months, because yes, he can remember his older sister being pregnant thank you very much, and it is something Lance absolutely does not want to press on Team Voltron any time in like, _never_. Team Voltron would go from Team Awesome to Team Fuck This in under three weeks.

"It's my first time," Lance manages to choke out with a straight face and only extra blushing, "-babies I mean, not, like, you know – ohmygodishouldstoptalking," he mutters, succumbing to the inevitable and pushing his heated face in his hands. Lying has never been so traumatizing, holy shit.

Rial leans over and rubs his back, between his shoulder blades, careful to stay away from his bonding mark. "There, there, Lance, we've got you," she coos soothingly. "We'll go with you and help you when you introduce yourself to the god."

Lance peels himself out of the comfort of his hands and blinks at Rial, trying to figure out if that's a turn of phrase or something else he's unaware of with this god of theirs. "Um, sure?" he says, hoping he sounds pleased rather than confused.

"Let's go then. Better to get the gifting out of the way now," Malo says.

Lance follows closely behind Malo and Rial, a little apprehensive. Gods are not things to trifle with, Lance has discovered. Not that he personally has one, or believes in one, but other people's beliefs can be dangerous, twisted things. Belief allows a person to commit atrocities in the name of a higher being. It can absolve a person of guilt when they commit those atrocities. It can also offer hope, a light in the darkness. Lance prefers to take a pass on it all, to believe in his team only. Life is simpler that way. 

The group makes their way toward the main temple, and this is the building that Lance could see from his vantage point by the lake earlier. The Temple of Ashea is oval in shape, stuccoed with white plaster and a broad red band of paint just at the base. The color matches the red of the tiles on the roof. Just before the main door are two statues representing the two faces of the god; one a stag that rears up, antlers on display, and the other is a statue of a man wearing antlers: a horned god.

This is Ashea.

Lance has seen him on the local currency. He's seen him represented in the deer led around last night by the priests, caparisoned in blossoms and beribboned, feted and fed. To see him represented as a man makes Lance feel… he's not sure how to describe it. He keeps coming back to the word _apprehensive_. It feels like a warning. A storm cloud on the horizon. It makes Lance wonder once again what happened to the Blade member posted here that nobody wants to talk about.

His thoughts are interrupted by Rial, who taps him on the arm as they pass into the temple proper. The vast space echoes with the sound of the occasional tinkling bell, the murmurs of a crowd speaking in hushed voices. "Do you wish to make an offering?" she asks.

"Um, are you?" Lance asks. He's not going to risk doing anything out of the ordinary and drawing attention to himself. "I didn't bring anything with me to give the god."

"Not a problem," Malo says. "There is a reason why we call it the _Festival of Blood and Blossoms_. Come on. Will you wait here, Rial, or will you offer again?"

Rial shakes her head. "I will not offer. Once was enough."

Lance (wisely) keeps silent. He can sense a lot of unspoken words passing between the sisters, and he has no wish to interrupt. Malo lets Rial's answer hang between them, and then she nods. "So be it. Lance, shall we go?'

"Sure." Lance smiles at Rial, who offers one in return, and she turns, slipping through the crowd to wait by the doors. Lance follows Malo, toward the giant statue of Ashea at the rear of the building. 

As they wait patiently for their turn, Lance takes a moment to soak in the atmosphere and the architecture. Sunlight pours through skylights above, placed in the very top of the roof. It makes the whole temple feel a little like an auditorium rather than a religious center. Light is very much welcome here, apparently. The theme of light is further echoed with soaring pillars that reach almost three stories to the skylights, the tops of the pillars furled out like leaves, some like lilies. If Lance was to invent a temple that incorporated Ancient Egyptian architecture with a dash of Bauhaus, this would be it. It should be weird but it works. 

The crowd thins eventually, and Lance is finally able to take in the whole view: the three story statue of the horned god, at his feet a pool of clear water, cherry blossoms floating lazily on the surface. He approaches with Malo, listening to the hushed murmurs of gossip and conversation around him, trying to soak it in in case a single piece of information could be useful. Because here, in the temple, it is the domain of the omega. It's so obvious now, how important this place this is, could be to the mission. Here, there are no alpha to dictate procedure or policy, to tell an omega how to act or behave. This temple is dedicated to a god of fertility, a god of desire, and a god who feasts on the spoils of the hunt. This god is a provider, and while an alpha may dictate how an omega will act, inside the temple those alpha have no sway.

And it is suddenly very apparent to Lance that there should be no reason at all why he can see a single Galra, slipping through the shadows to his right, staying as much out of sight as possible. He takes a quick glance so that he doesn't draw attention to himself; however, as he meets the eyes of this man, he knows he's been spotted in return. Lance does not recognize this Galra, and there is no flash of recognition in his eyes when he notices Lance either, which is good. They are not part of Holkar's high ranked staff, present last night at the opening celebration, but they are an anomaly, entering a place that they should not be. 

Lance needs to get back to Keith and report this. But dammit, leaving now will look suspicious. He sighs. He's going to have to wait it out here with Malo, and see if he can't get away afterward. He's not sure if he should try to figure out where the Galra went on his own, or wait for Keith as backup. Common sense wins out in the end: he'll wait, because going in alone, unarmed, into an unknown situation is suicide without backup. He's actually got a lead, and blowing it by being dead and unable to inform his partner is a stupid move. Lance may like to play dumb but he's far from it, knows when to regroup and come back for round two fully prepared. War has taught him to respect surviving to fight another day.

There's a light touch at his arm – Malo – reminding him of where he is. Lance gives himself a mental shake, checks around once more, but the Galra is gone, as if he was never there. Malo stands with Lance just before the pool, and Lance is faced with the giant three-storied statue of the god. He's naked and, like all good fertility gods, a bit of a looker with well-defined muscles and an erect cock that almost reaches his navel. _Daaaaamn_. Lance wouldn't mind meeting this guy in a bar, ho boy.

He drags his attention back to Malo, who is grinning at him, one eyebrow raised, as if to say, _I know right??_ He watches as she turns to face the god, raising her hands, and then reaches over, ringing a small bell to get his attention. This is the noise that Lance had heard earlier when they entered - supplicants getting the attention of their god. She picks up a head of blossom and throws it into the pool and then reaches into her robes and pulls out a small knife. Lance's breath stops in his chest, because he's not sure what she's going to do next, although he doesn't think committing murder or self-harm in front of the god is what's going on here. Best to wait and see. His relief is almost palpable when she holds out her hand, pricks her finger, and lets a single drop of blood fall into the pool. Then she claps her hands twice, pauses for a moment with her eyes closed, like she is communing, and then blinks up at Lance.

_My turn I guess_, he thinks. He can't really duck out now, it would look odd. He rings the bell, and chooses a sprig of purple blossom tucked to one side in the basket. He hears Malo draw in a quick breath, but ignores it in favor of tossing the bloom into the water, watching it float to join the others. He doesn't have a knife, but Malo hands hers over silently, and he pricks his finger, letting the blood fall into the water. Then he claps his hands and closes his eyes. 

He feels a little silly standing here, to be honest. He really just wants to go home, and failing that, be near his pack mates again, bask in their presence, the comfort they offer. He wants to feel the rain on his face, feel it soak his clothes, and run barefoot through the downpour with a lover. He wants to feel like he belongs somewhere at last, to feel comfortable enough to be himself.

When he opens his eyes he feels a little off balance. Malo is staring at him fondly, watches him blush a little as he realizes he's holding up the line, and steps to the side. Together they make their way back to the main doors, out into the sunshine, and start looking for Rial. Lance waves when he spots her, over by the wall. 

"Did everything go well?" she asks Malo as they join Rial.

"Yes, it went well. I have a good feeling about Ashea's intercession. Lance picked a purple blossom," she adds. "He communed with the god for a couple of minutes."

A couple of minutes? Huh. Lance had no idea time had passed that quickly.

"You chose purple?" Rial looks impressed.

"Yeah, why? It is um, close to the color of my alpha's eyes," he admits. It sounded so stupid out loud, oh my god. It was so much better in his head.

"Purple symbolizes divinity," Malo explains. "When Ashea allowed you to choose a purple bloom he was acknowledging your right to stand with him. You are very blessed, Lance. Not everyone is so singled out by the god."

The god_ allowed_ him to choose the flower? Lance scoffs internally. Seriously – he just picked up the nearest thing because it reminded him of Keith. Speaking of, he should start to head back to the inn and see how Keith fared with his task. He hasn't felt anything lately through the bond, and although he's not worried because Keith can more than handle himself, he still wants to check in.

He follows both women down the steps to the street below, and they pause to say goodbye. Lance turns toward Malo and Rial. "Thanks for the assistance today," he says. "You've been very helpful." 

Rial smiles. "I'm glad we got to meet, Lance. Today has been a nice change from my usual routine. I wish you good luck with your alpha."

"Thanks." Lance isn't sure what else to really say about that. He could do with all the luck when it comes to figuring out what Keith is thinking even on a good day.

Rial is about to move away when she spots a man hovering near a snack stand. He has two assistants with him; one holding a cushion and the other in charge of what appears to be the man's folding chair. The man is dressed in a pale blue tunic and white sandals, hair artfully curled and held in place with a thin blue strip of fabric across his forehead. His eyes are sharp and it feels like a hard, unpleasant jolt to the stomach when he makes eye contact with Lance.

Rial sees the man watching Lance. "Watch out for him. Valis. He's… unpleasant," she adds.

Malo nods rapidly. "Until later, Lance. Enjoy the Night of Song with your alpha!"

Lance is left at the bottom of the steps, watching Malo and Rial hurry off, like they can't be far enough away from the man across the road. Lance turns on his heels, because he's not looking for trouble or to attract attention, and this man seems overly interested.

Lance gets ten feet down the road before a hand curls around his bicep in a tight grip. "Excuse me," a voice says, and Lance really has no choice but to turn around and address the person holding on to him.

As expected, it's this Valis person. Lance is immediately assaulted with the smell of cloying perfume the man is wearing; sickly and sweet like bruised petals. Underlying that is the unmistakable scent of aggressive, spoiled alpha male. It's enough to make Lance's lip curl, and he fights to hide the way he wants to lean away from this person, to get clear of him as quickly as possible.

"Can I help you?" he asks bluntly, shifting to pull away.

"I don't know, can you?" the man flirts, turning to his assistants to seek approval and a quick laugh. "My name's Valis; I'm somewhat important around here and I'm looking for a diversion for a few hours. Maybe you could help me out?"

Jesus Christ. Lance hopes he never, ever sounds like this dude does. He's so beyond offensive it's not even funny. Lance purposely doesn't give his name when he responds. "Sorry, but I thought it was fairly obvious I was bonded?" he says pointedly. Lance's lack of scent should be more than enough indication that he's taken. The paint on him, and the bite mark are just other visual reminders, and Valis would have had to have been blind not to see them when he approached Lance from behind. 

Lance attempts to shake off Valis' grip on his arm, but instead the alpha tightens his fingers a little to prevent Lance from moving away. "You're very pretty for an omega, love," Valis smarms. "Quite unusual to find a male around these parts. I could make our time together quite enjoyable."

Lance steps close to Valis, looking up to meet his eyes, because Valis has a couple of inches on Lance. "Release me, now," Lance warns. "Do you really want to cause a scene right outside the Temple of Ashea?"

Both of Valis' companions turn ashen at the thought, and even Valis seems to think twice. "What if it's not a suggestion?" he hedges, his grip turning bruising. 

Lance schools his face; expression blank as he attempts not to grimace at Valis' touch, the way his fingers bite into Lance's arm. Jesus, this guy must be strong; Lance isn't a pushover by any means. "I'm not for sale, or for loan," he bites out. "Final warning."

"Valis, come away from the boy now," a forceful female voice calls through the crowd. Lance fights for his knees not to buckle, because he can hear the alpha command in that voice and he wants to submit. _Damn it_. By the time the command has washed over him and dissipated, Valis has released him, in favour of offering a subservient bow toward the alpha who had called him out. Most likely his mother, or a senior alpha in his pack, Lance guesses.

Valis gives Lance a considering look, and it's not a pleasant one either. "It would seem Ashea favours you today," he snarls. "We'll see if he favours you tomorrow."

_What the fuck_. Lance watches Valis stroll back toward his pack mother, and one of his companions pauses for a moment, as if he wants to say something, and then changes his mind. Lance takes a moment to watch Valis leave, wanting to make sure he actually does. Lance would stick around, but he feels suddenly exposed, a reminder he's on a world he doesn't belong to, with customs he doesn't understand. He might have just done serious damage here and he wouldn't know. Valis might be an unpleasant asshole but maybe it's the norm here, to approach an omega and bargain for his time.

Lance decides he's better off getting the fuck out of here quickly, before Valis sends someone after him. Just those few moments in his company has taught Lance that Valis won't take no for an answer very often.

Even walking quickly, it still takes Lance the better part of an hour to get back to the inn. He avoids the reception area, entering the inn's private gardens from a side entrance in the garden wall and crossing to the building that holds his and Keith's room. He wants to wash up, wash the scent of that asshole off his skin.

Luck – while usually on Lance's side – is not this afternoon, because as soon as he unlocks the door to the room he knows he's not alone. Keith's sitting cross-legged on the bed, making notes in a small book. It looks he's drawing a floor plan to a building.

Keith looks up at Lance, giving him a smile as Lance shuts the door behind him and latches it. "Hey, Lance. Did you have any luck w--"

Lance can see the moment Keith pauses; the way he lifts his head just a little like he's scenting the air, sorting through what he can smell. He frowns, staring at Lance. For the second time in just under an hour, Lance is pinned beneath a demanding alpha gaze. Keith bristles, slipping from the bed, stalking toward Lance.

Lance isn't usually one to give ground, but ever since he and Keith set out together on this mission, it's like their roles don't seem to fit properly any more. The unbonded Lance would have thrown a quick one-liner; flipped Keith off verbally, told him to mind his own business. Probably thrown the word _quiznak_ in for good measure. Bonded Lance stands there, watches Keith – _his alpha_ – stalk toward him, sure and graceful, predatory. He backs up a step when Keith gets into his personal space, grasps his bicep to hold him still even as Lance's shoulders make contact with the door, leaving him with nowhere to go. Keith's so close he can feel his body heat, feel the phantom press of his body, _oh so near_ to him; hips, chest, thighs. 

Lance can feel apprehension rise, mixed with a weird level of excitement, and maybe he's a little turned on by Keith's show of dominance. 

But all that feels like ashes when Keith's next words echo through the room with a deep growl.

"Lance, explain why can I smell another alpha on you?" 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith's possessive nature gets the better of him, and afterward, plans are discussed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, whoops, sorry for the gap there in updates. I was finishing up the other multi-chapter I was writing, and now that is done, I hope to be back on track with this with more regular updates every couple of weeks :)
> 
> (Also, the boys don't seem to understand what _unresolved_ sexual tension actually means... ;)

_Okay, so yeah,_ Lance thinks. _This is a thing_. This is Keith, in possessive alpha mode, pinning Lance to the door. Apparently Keith's new hobby is pinning Lance to any flat surface available – except he never actually _follows through_ on the threat and gets to the good part; the part with all the actual kissing and mutually beneficial orgasms. Lance isn't gonna lie; he's thought about it. A lot.

So, yeah. Lance can feel his shoulder blades pressing against the wood, the tight vice of Keith's fingers gripping his arm; already bruised from Valis's hold. Now that Keith is holding him firmly in place it's really starting to hurt; a low, dull, throbbing pain under the tender skin. Lance twists a little in discomfort, and Keith growls, low in the back of his throat and leans in to scent Lance again. 

Keith licks his lips, enough to wet them, and then meets Lance's gaze, frowning. "Lance, what's going on? Your scent is all mixed up and none of it is good. What did this alpha do to you?" Keith's eyes unfocus for a minute, and then Lance can feel Keith prodding at their bond, looking for clues. 

Lance lets him in, lets Keith feel Lance's impressions and feelings about Valis – none of them positive. "His name is Valis and he didn't _do_ anything per se," Lance explains. "Other than make himself look like a fool and cause a scene right outside of the temple grounds," he says with a humourless smirk. "He grabbed me and propositioned me, but other than that I held my ground. There was no way in hell I was going to back down. I'm not scared of some spoilt, privileged alpha who thinks he can get his own way."

"He did _what_? He propositioned you?" Keith hisses, his eyes dilating, and for a moment Lance swears he sees a flash of golden eyes and vertically slitted pupils, before Keith gets his Galra side under control with visible effort. "I will _kill_ this fucker for touching you," Keith promises. "Tell me where to find them."

Lance stares at Keith. He blinks a few times; he's well aware his mouth is hanging open a little. Part of Lance wants to laugh; another part wants to see what would happen if Lance _did_ let Keith shred Valis into small pieces. Yet another part (at least 75%, but he's not admitting that to anyone), wants to just drop to his knees and suck Keith off until he comes messily down Lance's throat. 

It's not really Lance's fault that he makes a little noise, bitten off and needy, and Keith hones in on that with laser-like focus. His hands drop to Lance's waist, and he pushes closer, slipping a knee between Lance's. "You're covered in his scent and _I don't like it_," Keith growls. He bites his lower lip, giving Lance a quick glance over. 

Lance is going to do something stupid; he can feel it. He can feel it in the way his body coils pleasantly in arousal; the aggravation and the worry about today's outing mixing with the constant apprehension of the mission. It creates a heady cocktail that mixes with his omega side, curling like so much smoke in his belly, tickling with giddy joy in his chest. Keith's eyes flutter for a moment, and he takes in a shaking breath, no doubt picking up on Lance's reaction to Keith's proximity. Lance slips a hand around the back of Keith's neck, pulls him closer until he can whisper in Keith's ear, "If all you can scent on me is him, then why don't you make me yours and change that?"

Keith fingers tense around Lance's waist for a second. There's a heavy pause as Lance pulls back enough to make sure Keith's on the same page. Keith's definitely on the same page; although he appears to be trying to hold it together, which is not part of the plan _at all_. 

Keith licks his lips, a faint blush crawling over his cheekbones. His pupils dilate as he takes a shaky breath. And then Lance rests his other hand against Keith's neck, fingertips brushing into his hair, and leans forward.

This kiss is as different from the last one they shared as it is possible to get; last time it was awkward and rushed, camouflage for the nerves they both shared knowing Keith would have to bite and claim Lance. This kiss is hesitant at first; gentle, a testing of the waters. That changes in a flash once Keith makes up his mind; he surges forward, pressing Lance back against the door, tongue pushing into Lance's mouth like he can claim him there, mark him with his ownership. Lance's hands slide from Keith's neck to his shoulders, across his pecs, back up, pulling him as close as he can, kneading into the fabric, trying to keep himself grounded. Because holy fuck, _this_ kiss is filthy; wet and hot, both of them trying to lead, and Keith lets out another one of those possessive growls that has Lance bucking his hips forward, seeking contact. He can feel the generous outline of Keith's hardening cock as their hips slot together, and Keith grinds forward. 

"Oh my _god_," Lance gasps out, throwing his head back as Keith rolls his hips again. He immediately latches onto Lance's neck, sucking a bruise into the delicate, sensitive skin. "Keith, fuck, keep doing that." 

Keith very rarely listens to Lance, and right now is no exception. Lance doesn't have a moment to think properly, the room suddenly spinning as Keith tightens his hands around Lance's waist, picking him up and throwing him onto the bed. Lance bounces, eyes wide, because _ho shit_, did Keith just manhandle him like he weighed nothing?

Keith puts one knee on the bed – plants it between Lance's knees – and crawls up the bed on his hands and knees. Lance can't think properly; but there's enough of a small thread of sanity still left in him that he shifts up the bed, keeping distance between him and Keith until he can feel the bank of pillows behind him, nowhere left to go. Keith is still fixing him with that super-hot, determined look he gets sometimes and Lance feels a little bit like he's about to be devoured whole. 

Keith's pupils are slitted again, but he still retains the violet iris, so he's not gone totally Galra, is still in some control. And then Lance has the sudden, stupid thought that maybe _someone_ should have questioned what happens when a human-Galra hybrid goes into full-on possessive alpha mode? Galra don't have secondary genders, sure, but they _are_ territorial. Back on the ship, when Keith had claimed Lance, he'd clearly been keeping his alpha on a short leash. Right _now_? Right now, not only is Keith's alpha in possessive mode, but apparently, so is his Galra half. Double the trouble, oh, _hell yes_. That sends a thrill through Lance, turns him on like crazy. Lance has always thought Keith was hot, but it only adds to the excitement when his Galra side comes out to play.

He watches as Keith pauses over Lance, hands planted on either side of his shoulders. It's amazing how much emotion Keith can still show with his pupils slitted like that, but it definitely gives him an alien quality, makes him a little harder to read. He leans down and places a slow, soft kiss to Lance's lips, one that lingers, before he pulls back. He's shaking, Lance realizes, like he's holding himself in check.

"Lance." Keith's voice is rough; it breaks at the end of his name. 

Lance reaches up a hand, fingers stroking along Keith's jaw. Keith's eyes flutter shut momentarily when Lance ghosts his thumb across Keith's bottom lip. Keith nibbles at the tip of Lance's thumb, teasing, and that sends another pulse of arousal washing through Lance. He rolls his hips restlessly on the bed, and Keith takes the hint, dropping down and fitting his hips in the cradle of Lance's, rocking forward, seeking friction.

That first slide is overwhelming; Keith's body weight settling over Lance's, pressing him down, the hard jut of his cock through the fabric of his pants as they move together. Lance grabs at Keith – first his shirt at the small of his back, then his ass – and grinds upward, making it very clear what he wants. When Keith follows his lead, grinding slowly back, Lance throws his head back, exposing his neck.

It's only when he hears another one of those possessive growls that Lance realizes what he's done; exposing his neck for his alpha. Submitting to him. Then Keith's mouth is on his neck, pushing hard kisses against his throat, over his Adam's apple, down to his collarbone and back up. Teeth grazing at the sensitive side of his neck, close to his scent glands, all the while keeping up that steady grind that's driving Lance slowly insane.

Lance doesn't think he's ever been this hot for it before. Sure, he was aroused when Keith claimed him – he came, and so did Keith – but that was more of a by-product of a job well done. This – this is different. Lance is gonna spill any second, and only the sharp pain of Keith placing bites against his neck, bruising him up, stops him from coming, instead only stoking the fire. Even if Lance doesn't have a whole lot of experience with this stuff himself, his body knows what it wants; hips falling open so Keith can push closer, belly curling with arousal, cock throbbing in his pants. 

Keith pauses, lips pressed against his neck, panting hard like he's running a race. He moans, soft and throaty, and shifts, pulling back enough to make Lance whine with frustration and grab at his waist in an attempt to get him back where he was. "Lance, fuck, you're…" Keith stares down at Lance. "I need to know – yes or no."

Okay, so words… not a strong point right now. Lance just wants to get off. 

Keith pulls back a little more. "Lance, I need you to focus." He strokes his hand along Lance's side, over his hip, fingers tugging gently at the waistband over the button. "Yes or no? I'm not going further without your permission."

_That_ brings Lance around. He forces himself to think about what Keith is asking him, and ignore his own dick, which has its own opinions. Lance wants to do this – he's wanted to do this for a long time with Keith. His personal spank bank is filled with about eight different variations on this exact scenario alone, plus a thousand more things Lance would love Keith to do to him, and for him to return the favour.

"Yep, yeah, yes, Si, okay," Lance burbles. "I want it," he adds, just for clarification. "I want you. Don't make me wait."

Keith leans down for a kiss, fingers flicking the button on Lance's pants and drawing down the zipper. "Good, 'cause you have no idea how much I wanna do this too."

Oh my god, they _are_ going to do this. Lance bucks upward with a moan when Keith slips his hand inside Lance's pants, pushing them, and his underwear, down enough to get a grip around his cock. Lance is so aroused its almost painful, and he takes his mind off it by reaching down to fumble at Keith's pants, doing the same; sliding them open, pushing the fabric down until he can get one hand on Keith's bare ass and oh my god, it feels exactly as good as his imagination told him it would. Now, with every languid roll of Keith's hips, he can feel the muscles in his ass working, feel all that coiled power behind every movement. Keith's hand moves slowly over his cock, coaxing Lance's pleasure higher, tighter. Lance reaches down and strokes over Keith's warm skin, across his hip, taking him in hand, until they are both thrusting in sync. Then Lance gets a hand around both of them, and it's perfect. Not only can he feel the press of Keith's body above him, but the raw power he holds in check. He can feel the hard, heavy heat of Keith's cock in his hand, sliding against this own erection, pre-come sliding down their lengths, mixing together, making the glide that much smoother. Keith stopped worrying at Lance's neck now; instead he seemed determined to make Lance's head spin with messy kisses, licking into Lance's mouth, passionate and filthy.

Lance mindlessly rocks into the sensations, draws Keith as close as possible. He's aware he's talking in between kisses; mindless words of encouragement, pleas for more. Keith's other hand slides over the small of his back, the swell of his ass, pressing close for a moment, before his fingers slip between the crease of his ass. Lance shudders as Keith's fingers trail over his hole, and he lets out an encouraging moan.

"_Fuck_," Keith growls. "Are you wet for me, right here?" His fingers circle around Lance's hole, and it takes him a moment to realize that _yes_, he is, he's producing slick. That's new – is that a side effect of the claiming bite and the bond, he wonders. Keith doesn't seem to care about the details, just continues to tease Lance with the possibility of pressing in with one of his fingertips.

It's all becoming too much for Lance. The more Keith plays with him, the wetter Lance gets. His cock aches with the need to come, hips bucking up for more of that wonderful friction he can get from grinding against Keith's cock. He rolls his hips upward, then down onto Keith's teasing fingers. Finally, Keith slides one inside Lance's hole and Lance cries out, body trembling at the feeling of being penetrated for the first time. This is new; Lance has fooled around before, but never taken it this far. It doesn't hurt; instead he feels full, just as it should be, his body relaxing so he can take more.

Keith lets out a moan, laced through with approval. "So good for me, Lance," he whispers into Lance's ear. He pulls his finger out just enough to slide another in alongside the first, then sets up a rhythm to match their thrusts as they grind together. "So good, so wet, ready to take me, yes?"

"Oh god, fuck. Yes," Lance babbles. His free hand grasps at Keith's rucked up shirt; he uses it like a lifeline to try to stay grounded. It's not working. Not with the way he can feel a hint of sharp Galra canines grazing along the bruised side of his throat. Not with the roll of Keith's hips; sinful and sure. Not with the way Keith pulls back just enough that Lance can see those slitted eyes go hazy with arousal, the way his breath comes in short, sharp gasps to match Lance's own. "Keith, I'm gonna…" Lance can't get his words out, slurring them like he's drunk.

"Hmm?" Keith asks, smirking. "Gonna what, Lance?"

"M'gonna come," Lance gasps. "Gonna – "

"Yeah." Keith sounds breathless, voice deep with excitement. "Will you come for your alpha, Lance? Will you come for me?" Keith thrusts his fingers deep, lets Lance writhe on them, lets him fuck himself deep and hard.

"Gonna come for you," Lance slurs, squeezing his eyes shut as his body locks with pleasure, spine arching, head falling back on the pillow as he releases so hard it's almost violent, ribbons of come painting the skin between them. 

Keith slips his fingers gently from Lance's hole and sits up on his knees. He fists his own cock, leaning over Lance, caging him in. "I'm gonna make you mine, Lance," Keith vows. His hips move restlessly as he works himself over, glancing down to look at Lance's stomach, his still heaving chest. "I'm gonna make sure you smell of me, and only me, and if that fucking prick comes anywhere near you again, I swear to every god out there that I _will_ rip him to pieces." 

Lance bites off a tired moan. There is no way that should be hot – no way in hell – but it is. Keith comes with a growl, both furious and needy, and his release splatters over Lance's spent cock, his stomach, his bare skin. He watches as Keith works himself through his orgasm, face twisted with pleasure. Keith is beautiful, even like this; even as his eyes open, even as he licks his lips, reaching down to press his come into Lance's skin with those clever hands of his, marking him properly until he's satisfied. Eventually Keith deems the job done and slides to the side, flopping next to Lance with a pleased sigh. 

"Keith?" Lance turns just enough to face Keith, who is still collapsed face-first onto the blanket. He's rather like a big cat. "Did - did you just _mark me_ with your come, you caveman?!"

Keith nods and smirks. "Mine," he reiterates, opening one eye. There's no sign of any Galra transformation, and Keith now appears to be fully human once more. "You're covered in our scent, all mixed together as one. You smell like me, and not like him. Much better."

Lance is feeling giddy, a little high on endorphins, but nothing like the side effects of when they'd bonded. He's sort of glad about that. He still feels the pleased rush when Keith says _mine_, like he means it. Except he really doesn't; Lance knows that. He needs to keep that in mind; while this whole thing is exciting, it's not real. He needs to be careful. 

He shifts, intending to get off the bed, but Keith's arm shoots out and tugs him back in. "Where are you going?" he mumbles into the pillow. "We should compare what we both discovered today."

Lance sighs and rubs his hands over his face. "Can I at least bask in the afterglow for five minutes?"

"'Kay." Keith scoops Lance a little closer and nuzzles into his neck with a contented exhale. "Wake me up when you're done."

Lance watches in disbelief as Keith drifts off almost immediately. He thinks back to the night they bonded, and the morning after, and suddenly it becomes clear. Lance's very own caveman, Keith Kogane, is an after-sex cuddler. Huh.

He is absolutely going to use this against Keith, at every opportunity, for the rest of time. Sweet.

* * *

Cuddling in bed turns into dinner in bed. When Keith wakes up he calls the front desk for food, and has dinner delivered to the room while Lance takes a shower. When he emerges from the bathroom, he's surprised to find a whole selection of items for them to nibble on while they talk. There's a jug of red wine, a couple of pork pies and some type of hot salad (Lance was gonna pass on that because… ew, but it actually tasted okay in the end) and an assortment of cheeses, not to mention sweet almond cakes for desert. The entire meal is a bit eclectic but in the end, quite tasty.

Keith has moved to sit near the top of the bed, cross-legged, and he reaches over to grab the jug of wine. He pours a cup for Lance, and one for himself, and gets comfortable, watching Lance picking at the last of his almond cake. 

"So, did you find anything useful today?" Lance asks, licking the white icing from the cake off of his fingers. When Keith is silent, Lance looks up. "What?" Keith looks a bit stunned, gaze fixed on Lance's lips. Lance licks them again, just to be a tease and sends a thread of playful desire down the bond.

"Um," Keith begins. His cheeks color a little as he feels the bond awaken. "Yeah, so today." He seems to pull himself together, taking a sip of wine and clearing his throat. "Lance, be serious."

Lance pouts. "Sorry. I get it; bad timing. We need a game plan, and soon."

Keith nods. "You're right, we need to decide what to do next. I followed a couple of the Galra we saw at the parade to the administration buildings near the market. I didn't see anything out of the ordinary, at least, nothing that screamed suspicious at me."

"Nothing at all?"

"Well, nothing like what we're looking for, anyway," Keith amends. "If you mean the usual governmental crooked dealings and bribery, then yeah, I saw a shit ton of that. There's some talk of a new building being constructed by the coliseum but that's about it. We could check that out; see if it looks like anything suspicious is going on. How did your visit to the temple go, other than bumping into that asshole alpha?"

"It went well; I might have a lead – at least I hope so. I was about to tell you when I came in but you went all alpha on me." Lance puts his plate to the side and gets comfortable, facing Keith. "I was able to get in the temple itself; it's open to all omega. I met a couple of sisters, Malo and Rial, who were very helpful. Under other circumstances I think we could have been friends." Lance trails off for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts. Keith is patient, waiting for him to organize what he wants to say. "While I was inside the temple, I spotted a lone Galra. Everything about him screamed 'suspicious' at me; he was by himself, inside a place where he shouldn't have been. He was keeping to the shadows; moving quickly, trying to cover himself so as not to be seen. I lost contact with him in the main temple, and when I looked up seconds later, he was gone."

"Yeah, sounds suspicious," Keith agrees. "What's your gut instinct telling you?"

Lance lets out a long breath and looks Keith over. "My instinct says he's up to something. Only omega are allowed in the temple – no betas, no alphas. I took my eyes off him for seconds, so where did he go?" Keith takes another sip of his wine, but doesn't interrupt. "I think there must be a door near the back that either leads outside to somewhere else, or down into the basement. A building that grandiose would have to have a basement to balance out the foundations, which are massive by the way."

"The basement would be a good place to hide things," Keith agrees. "Especially if it's supposedly off-limits to a vast majority of the population. We'll need to go in and take a look."

"_I'll_ need to go in and take a look," Lance corrects with a raised eyebrow, daring Keith to contradict him.

"I can't send you in by yourself," Keith says. "We're a team; we go together."

"We can't," Lance says, leaning forward. "I just explained that only omega can go in there. If someone picks up the scent of an alpha in there, the sanctuary will be defiled. You can't just toy with another planet's belief system like that."

"The Galra don't seem to have a problem with it."

Lance manages to avoid huffing in frustration, instead resorting to tapping his lower lip with his finger. "The Galra also don't have secondary genders that give out particular scents like we, and the Falosians, do. Look, Keith, I get it; you want us to stay safe. I want to stay safe too, but the long and short of it is that I need to get back in there, and see if I can trace where this Galra wandered off to. We need to find out if this is an actual lead, or a dead end. I can handle myself."

"I know you can handle yourself, I've seen you in action before," Keith replies. "I wouldn't have requested you on this mission if I thought you couldn't get the job done. Lance, you're smart, quick on your feet, and very good at staying one step ahead of the enemy. You're our sharpshooter; you notice things the rest of us wouldn't. That's why I need you in one piece. You are crucial to the success of this mission."

"I understood the risks when I signed up for this, Keith." Lance pauses, not sure if he should voice what he's thinking. Screw it, he's gonna say it anyway. "Are you sure that's the only reason, Keith?" When Keith doesn't answer, Lance presses forward. "Doesn't it bother you that the Blade have sent us out here without any real idea of what we are looking for? Don't you find that just a little suspicious?"

"I trust the blade with my life."

"Yes, but do they trust you, Keith? Sure, you're a legacy member, but you're untested in the field. You've never a led a mission before, only played a support role." Lance is careful to moderate his tone; he's not looking to pick a fight with Keith. He's only looking for answers.

Keith looks a little lost all of a sudden. "Do you think this mission is a test, then, Lance? Do you think the Blade sent us out here on a wild goose chase? I'm a member of the Blade, but I'm also a Paladin of Voltron. That has to count for something."

Lance reaches out, taking hold of Keith's hand and lacing their fingers together, stroking his thumb over Keith's. "In that case, why haven't they given us some idea of what we are searching for?" he whispers. "The previous Blade who was here should have known, so why don't we? The Blade must have had a tip off about _something_ – a solid enough lead to send a team or a person out here. How old is that tip off? Why are they only acting on this lead now?" Lance pauses to take a breath. "The Galra have been on this planet for ten thousand years, Keith. Shit, that number – it doesn't even make sense to me as a unit of time. Ten thousand years is – Jesus, Keith, humans were all living in caves and hunting mammoth when the Galra got here."

"To be fair, the Blade have only been stepping up their covert operations for the last decade or so," Keith adds. "Before, they were watching – waiting for the right moment to act. When Voltron reappeared they shifted gears from observation and infiltration of Zarkon's forces, to taking a more aggressive stance in order to help us out."

Lance nods. "Okay, point taken; that makes sense. But where is the previous member who was sent on this mission? Is he dead? Captive? Are we unknowingly walking the same path that they did? How do we know we aren't making the same mistakes?"

Keith turns Lance's hand over, stroking his fingers across Lance's wrist. "Lance, if you are that concerned, I said I'd protect you."

Even though Keith's expression is sincere, that annoys Lance. "Don't give me that secondary gender shit, Keith. Being an omega was never a problem for you before, stop treating me like glass that might shatter any moment."

"Lance, I don't – " Keith huffs, clearly also frustrated. "I don't care about gender roles. You are my team mate, my right hand, the Paladin of the Red Lion. You've kicked my ass a number of times during training, I've seen you take down hordes of enemy drones with instant kill shots, and you've saved my ass and the team's ass on numerous occasions. If I was worried about secondary gender bullshit I'd be a massive hypocrite."

"You do like the word _ass,_ don't you, Keith?" Lance drawls, trying to hide a smirk and failing. He simply can't stay mad at flustered Keith for very long; it's too cute. "The only ass you haven't mentioned yet is mine."

"I – argh," Keith yells, flopping backward on the bed and gripping his hair. He sounds annoyed, but he's also not hiding the grin on his face, either. "You are so _frustrating_, sometimes."

Lance raises an eyebrow. "Yes, but I'm also hot, so I can get away with it. So it's settled then? I'll go in tomorrow and see if I can figure out where our suspicious Galra went to, and you can… go shopping or something?"

Keith wriggles around until he can get an elbow under him and sit back up. "I'm gonna see if I can get in that new construction building as a day labourer or something, yes. And sure, I can go shopping if you like."

Lance laughs out loud. "Good little alpha," he says, reaching over to tug fondly on a lock of Keith's hair. "Do you need some pocket money?"

"Lance, has anyone told you to fuck off yet today?" Keith asks.

"Nope," Lance chirps with a grin. 

"Consider it done."

"Thanks, Keith." Lance gives Keith the finger guns, just in case he's forgotten who he's dealing with. Keith's roar of frustration is more than worth it, hell yes.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance finds a lot more than he bargained for beneath the Temple of Ashea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *strolls in late with Timmies* I'm excited y'all, my boy Lance gets to earn his BAMF card. *swoons*
> 
> Don't forget you can scream at me on Tumblr as Caeseria, and on Twitter as Caeseria_nsfw ;)

The temple is bustling, perhaps even more so than it had been yesterday. The entire festival seems to be building toward the Night of Song, which is one of the major aspects of the holiday, a night dedicated to Ashea in all his glory. Two days after that, the festival will wind down with a set of games, a day of celebration held in the arena.

For now, the crowds of omega eager to seek favour from the god are only growing, and it is easy for Lance to slip back in to the temple unnoticed; simply one more omega seeking the god among hundreds more. He's able to blend in seamlessly, and then to slip away past the statue of the god and into the more private precincts of the temple itself.

It takes him a few precious moments to find a staircase that leads down to the lower levels. He’s not expecting it to be tucked into a corner; a circular, stone-walled staircase reminiscent of the ancient castles he’s seen in photos before. The staircase twists in on itself in a column that finally spits him out through the only door into a vast, dimly lit and columned cellar beneath the temple. The walls are whitewashed over stone, arches spanning the space twenty feet above his head.

It seems that this is where the temple stores the tithes and tributes they must receive from benefactors and, for a second, Lance simply stands there, staring at the piles of cloth, the crates of victuals, and the orderly arrangement of goods. The temple footprint is enormous, and the wealth this shrine commands is mindboggling. For a moment, Lance can only stand there and stare.

Voices carry faintly across the space and Lance startles; realizes he’s standing there in plain sight, with no real backup plan in case he’s spotted. He ducks across the aisle, behind a stack of wooden crates filled with what looks like packaged food… cubes? The voices grow nearer, and the closer they get, the more Lance can feel his heart beat faster, adrenaline sending butterflies fluttering through his gut. If he’s caught now, he can claim he wandered down here in error – a lost pilgrim – and probably get off with a warning. He’s talked and charmed his way out of worse in the past after all.

The voices belong to two acolytes, dressed in long, flowing, pale blue linen. They wear the same vestments as he’d seen in the temple yesterday; loose pants reminiscent of Japanese Hakama, and sleeveless tunics belted at the waist with a low neckline at the back to show off their unmarked scent glands, highlighting their dedication to the god. Both are omega, unmated. Lance can scent them faintly as they pass by; both have a subtle, light floral scent that is calming, allowing Lance to breathe easier, and he can feel himself relax incrementally. When Lance had left the inn, he'd dampened down the bond with Keith, not wanting to distract him. Of course, muting Keith like this has its downside – Keith can’t really feel him through the bond, can’t send him soothing thoughts, or offer him silent support. And right now, Lance could use it.

Once Lance is sure that they aren’t going to turn back and spot him, he slips from his hiding place and crosses the main aisle, moving into the far reaches of the cellar. Lance isn’t really sure what he’s looking for, exactly. The distinct lack of information is what he hates about this mission. All he knows, at this point, is that he’d seen a Galra come down here yesterday, but _where_ did he go? Lance can’t see any exits. There aren’t any hidden rooms; no areas of high traffic. In fact, the area he’s in hasn’t been used for long enough that it's actually starting to collect dust; he can see the faint prints from the soles of his shoes he’s left behind. None of this mission makes any fucking sense, and Lance stifles a sigh with effort, dragging his hand through his hair in frustration. _Okay, okay, McLain, think it through_, he chants to himself. The Galra came down here. He didn’t sneak down – sure, he was trying not to draw attention to himself – but he acted like he _meant_ to be here. This means that the lay priests are used to Galra coming and going from a sacred place where they shouldn’t be, which suggests they have a reason for doing so. 

And yet, despite circling the cellar over a period of a half an hour or more, Lance cannot find _anything_. The only thing of note that he does find is a set of large double doors that lead outside, which must be where they bring in the tithes for storage before they are used. It makes sense that they are far enough underground that they must be level with the base of the hill the temple rests on, and goods are brought in through this back door. 

Lance is about to sneak his way back up the stairs when he spots movement out of the corner of his eye. He freezes, stepping carefully (and quietly) back into the alcove he’d been searching, trying not to draw attention to the movement. A tall figure exits the stairwell, pausing briefly and glancing around. Bingo. Just what Lance was hoping for. He takes a moment to assess the newcomer; he’s Galra by his size, but his skin tends toward blue rather than purple; his fur is short, ears much smaller and set further down on his head. Lance wonders if he’s half-Galra like Keith, fascinated for a moment with the idea. The Galra turns towards the left and Lance panics for a moment, because he’s heading directly toward him. Lance’s back hits the cool stone wall and he makes a noise of surprise, muffling it quickly with a hand over his mouth. He slides to the ground behind a crate, crouching down and freezing, waiting. 

The sound of footsteps echoes through the room, the stone and the vaulted ceiling making it almost impossible to tell where the Galra is at the moment. Lance can hazard a guess, but he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself by actually moving to look. If the Galra does spot him, Lance will have to react then.

A shadow passes by, blocking the light for a split second, and Lance holds his breath, waiting, adrenaline skyrocketing. Lance fights his initial reaction, which is always fight or flight – instinctive, but counterproductive at the moment. He needs to remain hidden. Unseen. Invisible, until he has the information he needs. When the light returns, he lets out a slow, steady breath, relief rushing through him. _Damn, that was a close call_, he thinks. He chances a quick look, and is relieved to see the back of the Galra, striding confidently toward the rear wall. _Where the hell is he going?_ The only door – the double doors he’d found earlier – are in the opposite direction. 

Curious, Lance hesitates, biting his lip. Does he attempt to follow this guy? If he’s shadowing him, the possibility of blowing his cover is high. The risk is worth it though: as it stands, he and Keith have nothing so far to work with. Lance’s single sighting of a Galra in the temple is the _only_ thing they have to go on, the only lead they have. If this lead doesn’t materialize into anything solid, they’ll have to go home after the festival ends and admit defeat. The Blade’s missing member will have vanished in vain, his probable death counting for nothing. There’s no way in hell Lance is gonna let that be the end of this mission.

He’s gonna follow him, he decides, sliding from behind the crate. He keeps low, crouched down, moving from cover to cover within the side aisle and the undercroft, staying to the shadows. The Galra pauses near the wall and swings to the left, vanishing from sight for a moment. Lance takes a chance and moves swiftly, regaining sight of the guy long enough to watch him vanish in a flash of sickly purple light.

_What the fuck just happened?_

Lance pauses for a split second and then approaches the end of the aisle, following in the Galra’s footsteps. _Clever, clever_, he thinks. He’d already scouted this end of the cellar and had found nothing. It appears that this phenomenon only occurs if a person follows a specific footprint, turns at specific points like they are following a pathway. It’s like a spell; a sacred dance. Or… he approaches the spot, staring down at the floor and seeing nothing but the worn, packed earth flooring.

It’s not a spell.

It’s alchemy. 

_Fuck_.

Lance has a split second to curse before the floor he’s standing on lights up. Beneath his feet, complicated markings and sigils appear in a circle, drawing attention to the fact that he’s accidentally triggered some kind of wormhole, or gateway, albeit a small one. Clearly designed to transport one person, it appears to work on the same principle as the ones Allura uses when she is piloting the castleship. The one she creates are designed with a special sigil, what Allura refers to as the ‘grab and hold’. The last thing you want is a massive castleship getting partway through and then drifting off course in the wormhole’s wind shear; only part of the ship would be transported to the new location, and the rest would be left behind. The solution is the grab and hold – this alchemic sigil literally freezes the ship in place so it can’t drift, remaining dead center in the wormhole until it can be transported through safely.

So yeah, when Lance feels his body lock so he can’t step out of the circle and abort the transfer, he knows he’s in a grab and hold. First off, _ho boy, not expecting that_ because, while he’s not involved heavily in the whole Allura-turned-alchemic-wizard thing, he does recognize some of the symbols. And he knows that when Haggar’s druids start pulling in energy and drawing certain symbols, that's the signal to start booking it the hell outta there, stat. 

Unfortunately, he can’t do that right now, and he has no idea where he’s gonna end up. He can’t even draw the knife resting against his lower back, ‘cause he can’t freaking move. _Fuuuuck._

The circle spits him out suddenly into a dimly lit alcove. Lance pulls his dagger as soon as he’s able, glancing around the room, taking in everything in split seconds. He moves from the spot he’d been transferred into, the light of the circle already fading out and leaving no sign of its existence. This is both a good and a bad thing: good, because now there's no sign of Lance’s arrival. Bad, because now he has no real way of knowing where the damn thing is so he can get back. Also, that brings him to problem two; he doesn’t know the alchemic pathway to activate the circle again, and moving back over where it had appeared only proves his theory. He needs to know the correct pathway to make this thing activate so he can get back out.

_Okay, okay_, he huffs to himself. _One thing at a time. Focus._ He ducks away from the alcove, moving quickly until he’s plastered against the opposite wall, taking note of the location he’s in. He’s damn lucky that the Galra he’d followed hadn’t hung around or noticed him, ‘cause that could have been messy – blood on the floor type of messy.

Fortunately, Lance’s arrival doesn’t attract any attention, and when he looks around, it appears that the circle has spat him out into a disused corridor. The walls don’t match the ones in the temple cellar, so he has no idea where he is, or if he’s even close to the temple. He could be… shit, hypothetically, he could be _anywhere_ in the galaxy. Lance feels his stomach drop hard at that thought, and he pushes down the tendril of apprehension it causes. That’s a problem for later, though; right now, he needs to keep his eye on the money and avoid getting spotted.

First things first; he checks in with his bond and is relieved that he can feel Keith, as strong and as steady as always. Keith’s sending calm, encouraging energy his way. It’s like a lover’s caress, full of warmth and affection, and it’s grounding. Lance can feel some of the tension and worry drain from him, leaving his mind clearer and more focused. He pushes his gratitude back down the connection, lets some of his affection show in return. It’s like a pleasant feedback loop when they do this, layers of meaning and thoughts stacking and blending together, creating a solid bond between them.

Eventually, he lets the link fade, and Keith doesn’t push, or attempt to keep hold of his attention, knowing that Lance needs to stay focused on the objective. Lance grips his knife and takes a deep, centering breath, settling into mission mode. He slides from around the corner, taking stock of his environment. As he’d noticed before, the corridor is dim. The air is cool, and he thinks he must still be underground. There’s no foot traffic – no Galra to be seen, which is a little puzzling until he looks down and notices that the concrete flooring here is covered in a fine layer of dust. It’s not deep so, like the cellar he’d transported out of, this area is not totally unused, and he needs to make sure he’s not making a visible trail for anyone to follow. He listens for a few moments; watches, and waits. Nothing.

Okay, so this is crazy weird. Where the hell _is_ everyone?

Lance slips from the corridor before he can second-guess himself, keeping close to the walls to avoid detection as much as he can. Most of the corridors aren't wide, brick tunnels dimly lit with weak electricity or the Falosian equivalent. Some of them drip with water, and one has an alarming amount running in fast moving rivulets down the walls, pooling on the floor before seeping through the concrete into the ground. When Lance places his hand on the wall next to the flow, the surface is spongy, shockingly cold, and the water even colder when he runs his fingertips through it. He hopes the damn thing isn’t gonna collapse – maybe that’s why these corridors are empty? Have they been abandoned because they are unsafe?

Anyway, he keeps going, encountering nobody, Galra or otherwise, as he moves. He turns into the next area and here there’s a startling difference; the corridors are wider, better lit, and the walls have the familiar Galra architecture: regularly spaced arches lighting the hallways with that sickly purple the Galra are so fond of.

Okay, so now Lance knows he’s got problems, because he’s clearly in a Galra base. He’s just super fucking lucky that he apparently emerged from the circle into a disused area of the base, and not into the main facility. 

Which brings him to… where the fuck did the original Galra from the temple go?

It’s only then that Lance hears a sound; it’s a quiet, hesitant scuffing sound, like someone's trying to be sneaky. 

_Ask then, and ye shall receive, _he thinks sarcastically.

Lance whirls around, arm up just in time to bring his knife up to block the heavy blow from his missing Galra.

_Shit._

He kicks out hard, aiming for the Galra's kneecaps. Alien or not, it's still an effective move and maybe a little unexpected. The Galra grunts, swinging a fist at Lance's face. He ducks, winces when he hears the sound of the Galra's knuckles smashing into the wall. Showers of plaster trickle down, dusting over Lance until he gets the opportunity to duck under the Galra's second swing and get behind him. Unfortunately, the Galra is pretty nimble on his feet, and matches Lance move for move, starting to back him down another corridor that's less used. Lance lets it happen; the less people to witness the fight and hear it, the less people that Lance has to evade or deal with later. 

Right now, Lance would pay good money for his bayard. Sniper rifle or sword mode, it would still mean he’d be a little more armed than the short knife he has right now. That's on him, though, for not planning ahead in case he was compromised; although, in Lance's defense, he hadn’t expected to end up smack in the middle of a Galra base anytime soon. Lance stumbles; heel catching on a patch of uneven ground, and he curses as his grip on his knife slips. It skitters across the floor, out of reach. He keeps his balance and remains upright, but the Galra swings for him with a vicious right hook. Lance ducks, but fails to account for the bastard being ambidextrous, and he catches Lance in the stomach with his left fist on the follow-through. (Should have planned for that; Keith taught Lance a lot of his moves, and he's also ambidextrous, jeez). Lance flies backward, hitting the wall with a grunt, biting his lip in the process. The Galra smiles at him, shaking out his fist while Lance tries to take a deep breath. _Holy shit that was a fucking punch. Damn._

Lance rubs his hand gently over his stomach in a sort of self-soothing gesture, feeling the ripple of pain in his muscles, and then straightens up. He grins back, poking at his throbbing lip with his tongue, and then swipes the back of his hand across his mouth. He comes away with a splattering of red across his skin, and that first, telltale scarlet smear of his own blood never fails to shove his body into overdrive, the adrenaline pulsing through his veins with a heady mixture of excitement and fear.

"Okay, Smiley," Lance says. "Just a warning; I'm gonna get serious now, 'kay?"

The Galra lets out a derisive guffaw of laughter. "You locals amuse me. Come on then, _boy_, show me what you've got." He makes a gesture; holding out his hand and curling his fingers in a 'come here' sign, which is, apparently, universal for shit-talking during a fight.

Lance has one positive over the Galra; he's fast. Smiley may be one of the cat-like Galra, but he has bulk, and prefers to swing hard and ask questions later. Lance uses that to his advantage, ducking through and under Smiley's swings, feinting left when he should be going right, and vice versa. He even lands a couple of shots, and he makes a mental note to thank Keith and Shiro for the training, which has clearly paid off. Lance is much better these days at reading what his opponent is going to do next, alien or human. Hours upon hours of intensive drills and training with the alphas on his team have honed Lance's instincts, and he's an all-around better fighter for it. Sure, he prefers to snipe from the shadows, but a fight never really stays in the shadows, does it? Sooner or later, that enemy is going to track you down and want to get personal.

Lance can see his opponent is tiring; annoyed with Lance running circles around him, ducking beneath his guard. Lance can only hit so hard, and this guy is big, his armour protecting much of him. Lance is pretty sure his knuckles are going to bruise something fierce from the couple of misplaced hits he's handed out. Smiley lashes out unexpectedly, catching Lance off guard with a punch that seems to come out of nowhere. Lance goes down, onto his back, and he knows that, if he stays down, he's dead, no questions. Sucking in a breath and gathering the dregs of his strength, he rolls to the side, onto his feet and behind Smiley. He's gotta end this, stat, before the guy catches him again. Those claws are sharp, and he doesn't fancy getting eviscerated today, thanks.

So, Lance goes with his momentum, ducking down, delivering an uppercut to the guy's side, catching him under the ribs just below the armour. Smiley grunts, turns and swings. Lance uses his speed, twisting to the side to avoid the Galra's fist, and kicks out at his knee again. Smiley isn't a fast learner; he's clearly already forgotten Lance's initial attempt at taking out his kneecaps earlier. This time, Lance's boot connects with a sickening crunch and the Galra staggers to the side for a second, letting out a shout of pain. Lance uses his small victory to slip under his guard, picking up the knife he'd dropped. As soon as his fingers curl around the handle, he's moving, jumping on the guy’s back, gripping tight with his knees, getting his forearm locked around Smiley's neck. Smiley tries to shake him off at first, and then goes for a headbutt, flinging his head backward lightning fast. It's what Lance is waiting for; that brief exposure of the Galra's vulnerable throat. He moves a couple of inches to the side to avoid getting hit in the face, tightens his grip around the Galra's neck, and plunges his dagger into the space between the neck of his armour and his (now) exposed throat. His knife goes in, catching and sliding on Smiley's collarbone before slipping deeper. There's barely a resistance to it, which is pretty damn sickening if Lance thinks on it a little too much.

Lance expects Smiley to drop like a stone; instead, the blow seems to only aggravate him. That was _not_ what Lance was hoping for, shit. God, he hates this up-close-and-personal stuff. He can feel warm blood on his arm now, and the enraged Galra spins around, attempting to dislodge Lance by squashing him like a bug against the wall with his body weight. Lance tightens his knees around the Galra's back and sides, gripping on, squeezes his arm around Smiley's throat, hoping to choke him out instead, because it's pretty much the only option Lance has left at this point. 

Maybe it's the blood loss, maybe it's because Lance has been wearing him down slowly over the length of the fight, but Smiley starts to sag under Lance's weight as soon as he manages to apply a decent amount of pressure on his throat. Sensing victory, Lance grips tighter, rides it out like a cowboy, locking his arm in place and depriving Smiley of air, until he drops to the ground in an unconscious, crumpled heap. 

For a moment, Lance keeps up the pressure, because if this Galra was Lance, Lance would totally attempt to fake out his opponent in an effort to trick them. Apparently, Smiley isn't that guy; he's out cold, neck (maybe more shoulder, now Lance looks at it) wound bleeding sluggishly. Lance will take the victory for what it is, however, and he slowly gets to his feet, grimacing. His body feels beaten bloody and blue. It's _probably_ not too bad; he's got a cut lip and a bruised stomach, probably some other stuff going on, but right now the adrenaline is pumping, and he feels almost invincible, which he should probably take for the warning sign it is. He glances around, pushing a hand through his hair and taking a quick moment to think through what he needs his next steps to be. 

First: hide this guy somewhere out of sight. Second: get the hell out of here if he can figure out a way. Lance really doesn't want to think about what happens if he can't get that circle to activate. Fortunately, step one should be pretty easy. There are a couple of doors off of this corridor, and Lance manages to drag Smiley toward the nearest one, careful not to tip him to the side. Lance isn't being polite; he just doesn't want to deal with the cleanup if this guy starts bleeding all over the floor. Lance hasn't seen a security camera yet – they have to be here, but if they are, they aren't visible. He doesn't want to leave a trail of gore for someone else to follow.

Lance gives the door a push, and it opens easily, revealing some kind of store room. Whatever; Lance'll take it. He drags Smiley inside, into the corner, and gives the room a quick glance over. It's full of random shit, but there is a shelf with supplies on it, and some twine. It's perfect. Lance grabs the roll and starts pulling off lengths of the twine, twisting three strands together until he's got a makeshift rope. He rolls Smiley to the side, pulls his arms behind him, and ties his wrists together. Another push and Lance has him on his back again. He can't worry about whether or not the guy survives; Lance has bigger problems. Sure, he doesn't like dealing heavy damage as a rule, but if it comes down to him or the other guy, Lance knows—has chosen—to take that person down permanently. It comes with war; it comes with the territory. 

Lance wants to live and he'll do what he has to to keep it that way.

_Okay_, he thinks. _Time to come up with some kind of game plan to exit this place. This whole day has been a freaking disaster. _It makes sense to try and make his way back the way he came rather than wandering around blindly. It's really, really weird that he hasn't run into any more Galra other than Smiley, and that fact is kind of _really_ bothering Lance. Who has an entire Galra base with no soldiers in it? 

Regardless, he needs to get moving. He opens the door a crack, listening for any passersby (because the base may appear completely empty, but Lance is human, and humans work on the Murphy's Law Principle, and Murphy is _always_ a fucking asshole, right, and will totally find a way to make sure that the one person in the entire Galra base chooses that moment to walk by and see Lance. Lance knows it; it's cool. He's got this). Turns out, acknowledging Murphy's Law gives him a free pass card, and he slips from the room with barely a sound, unnoticed. He manages to avoid all contact for the next few minutes, and then he takes a right turn instead of the left he should have taken.

Things go to shit (again) pretty fast.

The first thing that Lance notices is the sound of voices, coming toward him. It's a little surprising after the lack of any Galra presence, and he ducks into one of the niche thingies that line each corridor. He thanks his stars that the Galra are predictable with their architecture; no matter where you go, a Galra base/ship/corridor is gonna look the same. Also: getting directions sucks – see point one - everything looks the same. Just as Lance tucks himself out of view against one of the pillars, one of the largest Galra Lance has ever seen walks past. He's with a druid, and Lance's heart stops beating for a second.

Druids. One of Lance's least favourite things, apart from Haggar. Now the alchemic transport circles make sense, don't they? Normal Galra don't use them to get around. Lance hadn't really stopped to think about _why_ he’d gotten zapped through one of these circles in the first place. Now the question really becomes, why is one of Haggar's druids here?

The tall Galra is talking, waving a hand around, his tail swishing behind him. "-not due to be changed for two days. It's a little early, isn't it?"

"My mistress has duties elsewhere, and I have been entrusted with this contract." The druid, unreadable with his face mask, slows a little, as if he needs to make a point. "The codes will be changed as scheduled at the start of the lunar cycle. It is simply my mandate to deliver them to my counterpart; that is all."

"Of course." The tall Galra inclines his head in a bow, acknowledging the druid. "This way, then." 

Lance lets out a breath once they pass. He can probably sneak back the way he came now, attempt to get back to the circle he arrived via. But… something's off. Lance can feel it like a sort of force tingle; a subconscious acknowledgement that he may have just heard something that seems trivial but might be momentous. He can't shake the feeling that he's on to something.

He _really_, really wants to slip away and get the fuck out of here, to get back to safety and to Keith. For a moment, his longing to do just that is overwhelming. He wants to feel safe in his alpha's – Keith's – arms. Wants to waste time lying tangled up with him, listening to the deep rumble of his voice as he talks, feel the slide of his fingers through his hair, lulling him to sleep.

But.

Codes? That there is some kind of programming bullshit, and that sends off alarm bells in Lance's head, because isn't the whole point of Falos to be off grid, impenetrable to hacking? What the hell do you need codes for? Does it unlock a vault of some kind, or a safe? Is this what the Blade were after?

Fuck. Lance allows a tiny whine to escape from his throat, and he leans his head back against the wall. Nope, he's gotta do it, doesn't he? He can't walk away from this. He's a paladin of Voltron: if he can save the universe, he's gotta try. 

Lance cranes his head around the pillar, watching as the druid and the Galra turn the corner. He can feel his stomach muscles bunch and tense, bruised and aching from the fight. That'll have to wait, though. He slips from the alcove, moving faster in order to catch up, keeping as much to the shadows as he can to avoid detection. Luck is with him for now; he follows the pair down another couple of corridors, only to have to duck back around the corner when he comes across both of them standing in front of a large, round door that’s recessed into the wall. It's flanked by two Galra sentries, complete with rifles. A quick secondary check reveals just the two guards, the druid and the Galra, which is manageable— providing Lance keeps out of sight. The door is at least nine feet high, well lit, and solid metal, as is the surrounding structure; walls, floor, ceiling. It's like… a freaking giant metal strongbox. 

Oh shit.

It _is_ a giant freaking strongbox. It's a fucking _vault_.

Lance can feel his adrenaline start to spike again, breaths coming a little faster. His senses feel like they're in overdrive; kinda like when he settles down in his sniper nest those moments before he takes his first shot. He needs to remain calm, to see this through, to not get his stupid ass caught, because if that's what happened to the Blade who went missing? Yeah, no wonder the Blade of Marmora were so fucking keen on getting in here and getting out with the goods.

Another shadowy figure – a second druid – approaches from the opposite end of the corridor, flanked by two more guards, and pauses in front of the first. "You are early," the newcomer intones.

Lance smirks, because he's pretty sure that, if he was that first druid, he'd be fed up of repeating himself over and over again. "Haggar sent me with the new sentry codes. They are to be filed at the start of the next lunar cycle in two days as per her instructions." Yep, druid-guy is annoyed.

The newcomer seems to pick up on the subtle irritation. He inclines his head. "Of course. The codes will be installed in the Vault. Will the Cradle be updated with matching codes at the start of the cycle as well?"

"Of course."

Lance ducks back around the corner when he notices the Galra's attention slipping, sees him glancing to the side. He stares for a long moment down the corridor, even going so far as to shift a couple of steps toward Lance's direction. Fortunately, the first druid choses that moment to reveal that he is carrying a small leather document case and, just like that, the Galra's attention is fixed back on the matter at hand. 

"The codes."

The second druid takes the document case carefully, held in both hands like an offering. It nods to the first. "The Vault acknowledges the codes, and will keep them safe until the time at which they might be activated."

"The Cradle thanks you for your service."

Lance frowns; this seems very... formulaic in nature, like it's a traditional ceremony, something to be done by rote over and over. He's gonna take an educated guess and say that this facility must be called the Vault. It would make sense, because a vault or a strongbox would be a safe place to keep something very valuable. But just how valuable are these codes?

The druid now holding the document case steps to the side, and the second druid steps forward and then to the side. Lance immediately takes note; this is exactly what Smiley did in the temple cellar – this is the alchemic pathway to activate these gateways, he's sure of it. The space in front of the door glows with purple light and, as the druid reaches out and touches a panel on the door, a gateway opens beneath him. The druid steps onto it, vanishing immediately. 

Damn; Lance missed the last part of the sequence due to the glowy light display, but something is pulling at his mind, some sense of familiarity. He lets it go for now. He knows how his brain works; if he worries away at it, it'll only tangle what he's trying to recall. If he leaves it alone, the answer will come naturally to him. He's observant; he already has the answer, but he can't visual it _yet_. One thing is clear though – only someone with Galra DNA can open that vault door, and that means that he needs to get Keith down here so they can break in.

Lance starts to back away carefully; he's pretty sure he's seen all he can safety get away with without being spotted. It's in his favour that this is apparently a well-repeated routine for all participants; their guards are down enough that, if Lance plays his cards right, he might get out of here with his skin intact – long enough to pass on this information, anyway.

Time to motor.

He starts to move as quickly as he can while remaining in the shadows, trying to memorize where he came in via the cellar and how he’d gotten to this point at the strongbox.

He needs to record the twists and turns he took to get to this point before he forgets. Stress is an annoying thing; it can make you complete feats of brilliance, or freeze you on the spot and make you vulnerable. The last thing Lance needs to do right now is forget how to get back to the strongbox. Lance is convinced this is where they need to be, so… the priority is recording the location of everything he's seen that might be important, and then getting the fuck out of here before he gets into any more fights with guys twice his size. Lance winces, hand on his stomach. Yep, that second one is important; dammit, he _really_ doesn’t want to get into a fist fight again.

What he needs is a piece of paper or something to write this stuff down on, and fortunately, the universe is working in Lance’s favour today, because it appears that _everything_ in The Vault is written down on paper; nothing is committed to a network or a device that could be hacked. In fact, it appears that there’s a high level of paranoia regarding this, and always has been, if what Rax had said during the mission brief is correct. And, if what Lance had overheard in the corridor is correct, it’s totally warranted. These codes are something important.

By now, Lance has managed to get himself mostly back on track to where he needs to be. He spies more doors off of this corridor and, banking on the fact that most, if not all, activity in this base is centered on the vault, he picks one at random and steps inside.

The room is devoid of occupation, as Lance had hoped. At some point in the past it appears to have been a well-used office space; there's a desk and chair, book shelves, and a bank of filing cabinets. Lance snorts, he can't help himself. Of course there's gonna be filing cabinets in a place that relies one hundred percent on its ability to stay off-grid. How else are you gonna organize anything and find it again? The fact that Lance has been joking for days about looking for a filling cabinet and that the freaking strongbox is basically just exactly that has Lance bending over, wheezing, gripping his bruised stomach muscles and hacking out a laugh. After a few moments, he straightens, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. He valiantly tries to ignore the smear of blood still pressed into the skin there, and pokes at his swollen lip with his tongue. Yep, still swollen, still tender. Still making him wince. He stops, otherwise he's going to worry the wound open again, and he begins hunting through the desk drawers for paper. He finds a pad almost immediately, and a pencil, which comes out dark green in color when he scribbles with it. _Do Galra only have green pencil lead,_ he wonders, and then he shakes his head. _Jesus, keep it on track, _he thinks angrily at himself._ This is no time to be fucking around asking stupid questions_.

He sits down in the chair and pulls the pad toward him, starting to sketch at the top of the paper with where the temple cellar gateway spat him out. He draws quickly, marking in fast, decisive lines with what he knows for sure, the pencil marks a little more hesitant in areas he’d only glanced at or had passed by. When he's finished, he marks the gateway from the temple in a quick star shape within a circle, and then marks the spot where the druid had vanished outside of what he thinks as the Strongbox. Just to make sure he has the map up the right way he marks an extra star at the top to refer to later on when he shows Keith. 

He drops the pencil, letting out a deep sigh. At least he's gotten the knowledge down on paper. He feels a little safer knowing it's out of his brain and that, if he can get free of the Galra base, the knowledge is out there even if something happens to him personally. He picks up the pencil again and hesitates, the tip pressing on the paper without Lance moving it. He weighs his options. What if something does happen to him? Hell, he doesn’t want it to, but what if it does? What if he's compromised? What if he can't talk for some reason and he's not able to explain everything to Keith? All this discovery will have been for nothing. 

He has to take a gamble.

And he'll always gamble on Keith, no questions or hesitations.

He lifts the pencil, and then writes clearly across the top: _North-Corner Inn, Room G1._ He puts the pencil back down. It's a statement: no names, nothing super compromising. Just a room number, just an address. If the map's found on his body, or he's captured, the phrase doesn't point to another person, only a physical location. It’s a gamble that Lance has to take to secure the mission.

He stands up and folds the paper, tucking it into his boot where it's out of immediate sight. He listens at the door for a long few moments, and then slips from the office into the corridor. He's not far from the older parts of the base that are near where he came in, and he notes the change in the walls from the typical Galra base décor to the brick and stone lined walls of before. He passes the wall with the water that pours from above, glad to see that his memory has him perfectly on track. 

He should be able to take a left, then another right, and then the alcove with the gateway should be right there.

Lance rounds the corner and yep, the alcove is right there.

Also right there, waiting for him?

Smiley. And yeah, Smiley does not look very happy. He's covered in a cascade of his own blood, caked and drying over the chest plate of his armour. He's favouring one leg because, apparently, yes, Lance had actually busted his kneecap earlier when they’d fought. 

More importantly, he's holding the twine that Lance had bound his hands with. When Smiley spots Lance, he makes a show of winding both ends of the twine around his fists, and then he yanks on the twine violently. It's not hard to imagine exactly what he's going to do to Lance with the makeshift garrote when he gets a hold of him.

Fuck.

Lance pulls his knife free and grips it, settling down in a defensive crouch, his free hand raised and ready to block whatever Smiley is gonna throw at him. Smiley knows that Lance wants out, and he also knows that he's blocking Lance's only exit.

Lance grins and Smiley returns it, both of them well aware of the stakes. 

For Lance, this is a fight to the death.

He's ready to dance. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance fights his way free of the Galra base at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, I'm late again? This year is kicking my ass, plus I still have to work through a global pandemic cause my company are assholes. Ughh.
> 
> In much more fabulous news, the wonderful, amazing Fomalhaut89 did an absolutely stunning piece of artwork of Lance in the temple. It is gorgeous, please [go check it out on tumblr and leave lots of love!](https://fomalhaut89.tumblr.com/post/612957539284500480/i-wanted-to-draw-this-scene-so-much-after-i)

Smiley is not a small Galra by any stretch of the imagination. Lance can't quite believe that he’d managed to take him down the first time they’d fought. Now, the guy has taken a quick nap on an office floor courtesy of Lance and has come back more furious than the first time, but with one added bonus perk to his stats: the need for revenge.

"_Shit_," Lance mutters. 

"You want out, Falosian?" Smiley taunts. "Come through me and then we'll see."

Well, at least the guy still thinks he's a local, which is a good thing. Lance needs to done with this fight as soon as possible. He can feel the slip of folded paper he’d placed in his boot, rubbing at his ankle; a reminder of the stakes should he fail. He needs to be _outside_ of the base if someone is to find this map – even if it's on his body. If he can't get out, the knowledge stays here with the Galra. Lance knows what he’s overheard is important. It doesn't make any sense to him – yet – but if he can get to Keith, to his alpha, they can make sense of it together. 

Lance wants to see Keith.

Wants to see his soft smile; the one he makes when he thinks no-one is watching him. Wants to see his passion, his frustration, his drive to succeed. Wants to see him sleepy and naked and covered in Lance's scratches and marks of ownership.

"Are you waiting for an invitation?" Smiley sneers, snapping Lance out of his spiral.

Lance stops hesitating. He's quick and agile, and covers the distance before Smiley is really prepared. Maybe he’d thought Lance was gonna finesse this or something, engage in a little bit of shit-talking first. Lance whirls, feints to the side and brings an arm up to slash at Smiley's face with the knife. Smiley does what any bipedal with self-preservation does; raises his arms to protect his eyes. Lance follows through with a kick to the genitals, and misses (figures), and gets his thigh instead because Smiley is Not an Idiot, apparently, and turns to the side.

Smiley is not holding back. He's angry, and he's determined not to give ground. Even an attempt at his family jewels isn’t going to budge him from the alcove and Lance's only exit. Lance blocks a flurry of punches, gritting his teeth, moving and dodging as much as he can. When he gets out of here, and he's gonna use _when_, because _if_ is not an option – when he gets out he can't look like he's been beaten bloody and bruised, not if he wants to make it three-quarters of the way across town without drawing attention to himself. Lance needs… shit, he's gonna have to maybe sacrifice himself to win. Or – or, at least make it look that way.

He doesn't like the idea at all, but Smiley is much more focused this round. Lance is slowly pulling him out of the alcove, but not by much. He can't wait any longer for the stalemate to end. 

Smiley still has a grip on the woven cord Lance had used to bind him with. Lance eyes it; watches it dangle from Smiley's fist, one end heavy where Lance had knotted it together. He takes a deep breath, watching it swing, almost hypnotically. It's a stupid idea. He knows it's a stupid idea. So many things are wrong with this plan and he can almost hear Pidge's voice in his head yelling at him about how stupid this idea is, but he's gonna do it, isn't he?

He ducks in again. Overbalances on purpose, or maybe his ankle gives just a little, serendipity playing on his earlier stumble when they'd first encountered each other. Lance keeps a firm grip on his knife this time, not wanting a repeat of when he'd dropped it. Smiley drops a kick and now Lance does go to his knees before the hulking, angry Galra. 

Shit, _shitshitshitshit_. For a split second, Lance's life flashes in front of his eyes; visions of the sea, his family, his pack. His alpha, Keith. He sees the dry desert again, sees Keith on his hoverbike, arid wind in his hair. And then Smiley is pulling him up, garrotte sliding around Lance's neck, hauling him upright, Lance's back to his chest. Lance has a split second to focus, gets his wrist up under the rope before Smiley tightens it and cuts off his airflow. Lance doesn't hesitate, can't think about the way his breath is choked off, the way his vision swims a little, adrenaline and the fight for survival tearing through his body, his veins. It's an awkward angle, but he's been training against Keith, who's ambidextrous, for months now. He can do awkward moves if he has to. He reverses the knife handle just as Smiley tightens the garrotte, almost lifting him onto his toes. 

Lance can't breathe much, but he doesn't need to. Not for a few seconds, anyway. The rope cuts into his wrist, preferable to his neck, _oh my god_, but he pushes all that to the side, not willing to deal with his mortality and the panic that comes along with that just yet. They lurch to the left a little and Lance uses that to stab backward with the knife, shanking Smiley in the stomach. He drives the blade home and twists, even if the angle is awkward. For a split second, Smiley's grip goes lax with surprise and Lance is able to move, to jerk at the rope and get free. He doesn't release his grip on the knife, however. 

Shock pulls at his opponent's features; they go slack for a moment. Then Smiley seems to come alive, grabbing at Lance again, jerking him closer. Lance goes with the movement, because if he doesn’t, the knife will slip free. Together, in a weird sort of embrace, they step back, and the alcove lights up. Lance draws in a surprised breath as they are held in place, locked in a parody of a lover's embrace as the wormhole holds them immobile and then draws them through the void together.

* * *

Lance isn't sure if he blacks out for a few seconds, but when he comes to, he's lying on top of an unmoving Smiley, knife still buried to the hilt in his stomach. Lance scrambles backward and onto his ass in a messy heap, his frantic brain somehow still recognizing the cellar of the temple and the tall supporting columns surrounding him. 

He's back where he needs to be. Breathing heavily, he pulls himself into a crouch just in case he needs to defend himself. Smiley is still not moving, but when Lance chances a quick, closer look, he's not breathing, blood trickling sluggishly from the wound. Lance isn't sure if the knife wound finished him off or if it was the wormhole, but the result is the same: he's dead. Lance can feel his gaze flicking from one spot in the cellar to another, hyper fixated for split seconds on random things, and he realizes the signs of shock setting in. 

He's covered in blood. Galra blood; deep reddish purple. It covers Lance's hands, his pants, Smiley's chest plate and armour, the Galra sigil standing out in bright violet against the black. 

It's then, in a moment of clarity, that Lance understands how the wormholes work, how the gates open. Staring at the Galra sigil he can clearly see that, to step through an alchemic wormhole, you have to move in a sacred pattern, and what is more sacred to the Galra than their sigil?

So sacred that the Blade of Marmora use half of it to acknowledge themselves and their organization.

Sacred enough that the druids have adopted the other half, to use that pattern to open the gateways.

So simple, but so easily overlooked.

But now Lance has the key. He can get out – or, just as importantly, he can get back in, if he needs to.

The sound of a hesitant footstep behind him has him whirling on the spot, backing up to the wall. Before him stand two acolytes of the temple, dressed in flowing blue hakama and sleeveless tops. Both are male, clearly omega, and Lance wonders if most of the male omega here go into the temple and do not mate, which is maybe why Valis was so interested in him.

The tallest of the pair steps forward and holds out a hand to Lance. "Come," he says softly. "We will have this dealt with."

"What?" Lance is still on an adrenaline burn. He'll crash soon, he knows it, but he can't understand why these two seem so calm, why they aren't calling for guards or for the Galra. "Why would you help me?" he blurts out. He glances back at the spot where he knows the wormhole should be. He's half expecting a bunch of Galra to start pouring out of it. Okay, so he knows he's being irrational, but he doesn’t trust this situation yet. He doesn't want to – won't – hurt these omega either. "Shouldn't you be handing me over to the authorities?"

"The Galra?" the other male says, tilting his head. "We may have to recognize them as overlords, but you have another watching over you. Do not think that Ashea would leave an omega in distress, especially one who he has favoured so." The male inclines his head in a bow of acknowledgement and then holds out a set of voluminous robes. "You should remove your bloody shirt and put this on, and my colleague will see you to the rear entrance of the temple. We will remove the body ourselves."

"That's it?" Lance stands, leg muscles suddenly weary and stiff. He can feel his body shaking, small tremors signalling the shock finally wearing off. "You're just going to let me leave?" 

"We are. I'm sure that, in the future, you will be able to repay us back in kind. Every action has a reaction, after all." They wait patiently until Lance finally starts to get his shit together, stripping off his bloody shirt in a shaking rush and wiping at the blood that's left until it's just a red-purple smear across his skin. He drops the shirt, leaving it to one side when one of the acolytes nods his head. He's helped with the robes, voluminous and soft, until it covers him from head to foot.

The first omega begins to steer Lance to the other end of the temple. "Go in peace, traveller."

The male opens a smaller door cut into one of the larger doors, and Lance slips through it, pulling the robe up over his head and wrapping the long trailing edge over his shoulder to keep the robes closed. The robes will hide the blood that still decorates his bare torso underneath, the hood will hide his split lip.

The sunlight is bright out of doors, and Lance blinks rapidly as his vision tries to adjust after being underground for so long. He takes a deep breath and puts one foot in front of the other, starts walking. He can keep moving, every step closer to Keith, to his alpha. His alpha, who he can feel worrying at him through the bond, a hesitant, carefully contained agitation mixed with relief that Lance is okay. Keith can be a bit of a screamer when he wants to (in public when he's angry, not when he's – okay, Lance isn't sure if Keith's a screamer in bed but he does intend to find out at some point) so the fact that he's waiting for Lance to get back to the room before going apeshit is very telling in itself, rather than rushing down here and causing a scene.

Oh boy, Keith is going to maybe kill him for putting himself at risk like this.

Despite that thought, Lance picks up his pace, moves though the shadows quickly, down narrow, dark streets, just to get to Keith sooner. He's not worried about getting attacked or pickpocketed, because he's just fought his way out of a Galra base for fuck's sake. He's pretty sure he can deal with most things at the moment and he's still feeling kinda punchy. 

He slips into the inn's side garden, moving softly but quickly across the courtyard and into the trees. He barely gets the opportunity to knock on the door before its wrenched open, Keith's roiling emotions pushing down the bond at the same time his scent and his shadow falls over Lance. Lance has just about hit his daily limit on emotions at this point, but seeing Keith shocks him into action, and he falls into Keith's arms, even as Keith pulls him inside and locks the door, wrapping him in close, arms tight around him.

"Holy shit." Keith's voice is rough, concern and relief evident in his tone. "Lance, what the hell? You go radio silent for hours and then suddenly – " Keith swallows like he can't get words out, his breath tickling at Lance's ear. "It's like you compressed a month's worth of emotion into the bond. I nearly fucking passed out from the intensity. Scared the shit out of me."

"Sorry, sorry," Lance mutters, squeezing Keith closer, enjoying the feeling of his hard, warm body against his own.

After a few moments, Keith leans backward a little, his hands resting on Lance's biceps, squeezing briefly like he’s checking to make sure Lance is real. His eyes dart across Lance’s face, fixating briefly on his split lip, and then Keith’s hands are cupping his face gently, fear and terror flashing in his eyes as he searches Lances face. “Thank god you’re alright,” he breathes out. “I was – I didn’t – “

And then he’s leaning forward, lips pressing gently against Lance’s, mindful of his split lip, but beneath that gentleness Lance can still feel those other emotions, a hurricane of whirling thoughts and fear for Lance, held in check by shear willpower alone. 

“Keith,” Lance breathes out, touching their foreheads together, lips millimeters from each other, almost touching. “It’s okay. I’m here, I’m whole and alive. See?” Lance takes Keith’s hands, moving them from where they rest against his neck, and down over his chest. “Feel me? I’m here, shhh.”

Keith presses gently over Lance’s torso, fingers sliding beneath the soft fabric of his robes, parting them. The robes slide, heavy weight pooling, dropping to the floor at Lance’s feet. Keith pauses, and Lance can pinpoint the exact moment Keith loses a little of that tight control he’s had.

“Lance, what the hell,” Keith growls, hands on his waist, tugging him closer.

And there it is; between one blink and the next, the moment Keith’s alpha rises to the surface alongside the Galra, irises slitting, incisors sharpening into points. Okay, so the incisor thing might be new, Lance thinks. He wonders what's going to come next. “Keith, I know it looks bad. This is not my blood – well, not most of it, anyway.” 

Keith doesn’t seem to hear him, fingers tighten on Lance’s waist, sliding across his torso, over his navel piercing, pushing into his skin as if to confirm for himself. Lance winces as Keith’s fingers graze across where Smiley landed a couple of punches to his gut, and Lance grits his teeth and tries to hide the wave of pain behind a shaky inhale. Lance takes Keith’s hand, pushing him gently backward enough to be able to look Keith in the face. “Keith, focus,” he says, and it’s kinda laughable that Lance is the one trying to calm Keith down rather than the other way around. Lance is usually the person screaming like the ceiling’s gonna come down on everyone’s head, so the fact that he’s having to be the calm one here is sort of ironic, he thinks.

“I – “ Keith begins. His eyes are huge, deep violet in the sparse lamp light, pupils slitted but still managing to convey an almost alien emotion. “Lance, you shut down and I couldn’t feel you through the bond, and I’m not used to this shit,” Keith admits. He licks his lips, fingers tightening in Lance’s hand. “I don’t know how I should be reacting. Part of me thinks I should be acting all alpha and protecting you? Does that make me the worst kind of person, going all caveman on you and acting like I don’t think you can do stuff on your own? ‘Cause I don’t, I think you’re one of the most competent people I know, Lance, and –“

“Whoa, whoa, buddy, take it easy.” Lance slips straight into bro-mode, eyes widening as Keith sort of runs out of steam and stands there, blinking at Lance. He’s vulnerable, Lance realizes. Keith is just as confused as he is over their bond, and how to act around each other. There is no normal for this, no way of knowing what is overreacting, what isn’t. And stupidly, Lance feels like he’s gotta soothe his alpha. But there’s also a part of him that wants to do this anyway, regardless of secondary gender. It’s not just an omega thing, he thinks. He thinks back to all the times he’s seen Keith in survival mode after a mission, freaked out and injured but trying to keep it together, giving off that stoic air that Lance has always interpreted as ‘stay the fuck away from me’, but is actually just Keith trying to work through his own emotions in public and not lose his shit. Suddenly Keith’s awkward behavior around the pack and team isn’t so funny anymore. “Okay, okay, um, let’s shower, yes?” he says, squeezing Keith’s hands to get his attention. 

“What?”

“Let’s shower. You could help me clean all this blood off, it’s kinda gross.” 

“Um, okay.” Keith looks a little better now he something to focus on, slitted eyes slowly returning to normal. He switches his grip in Lance’s hands, tugging him toward the bathroom.

“Oh, uh, wait.” Lance stops and bends over, reaching into his boot and pulling out the folded map. He straightens and passes it to Keith. “I need you to look this over and memorize what’s on it before you do anything else. And try not to lose it; I cannot stress enough how important to the mission that is.”

Keith unfolds the paper and glances at it, then up at Lance. He seems to have regained some of his poise. “What is this, a map of the temple underground?”

Lance shakes his head. “Galra base. That’s where this happened.” He gestures to his torso and the smears of blood drying across his stomach and arms.

“_Galra base_? Lance, what the fuck – “

“Ah ah ah," Lance admonishes, pushing Keith toward the bathroom. “No talky, only committing the map to memory. I’ll fill you in later on the deets.” Oh Jesus, Lance thinks, he’s resorting to valley girl speak in an effort to not have Keith freak the fuck out. This might be harder than he thought. Keith can fly off the handle on a good day, and Lance hasn’t even got to the exciting parts yet.

“You promise to explain once we are done?” Keith demands, suddenly an immovable obstacle in front of the bathroom door.

Lance nods. He’d smile reassuringly but his lip is throbbing a little from talking so much, threatening to split open again. “Promise.”

Keith stares Lance down and then nods, for the moment seemingly content with his response. He pushes open the bathroom door and moves to the shower, leaning in to start the water, while Lance toes off his boots, pushing them with a foot toward the door so they are out of the way. His socks come next, and then he’s working at the tie on his pants, pushing those down over his hips and giving a little wriggle to get them down. He glances over his shoulder, because Keith’s gone quiet, and can’t help the grin he makes (despite his lip protesting) at Keith’s slack-jawed expression.

“See something you like, sweetie?” Lance teases, wriggling his ass again for good measure.

Keith makes a strangled noise and points at the shower. “Get in. Now.”

"Demanding," Lance says playfully with a raised eyebrow. Winding Keith up after a mission has always helped Lance regain his equilibrium, but now he has the extra bonus of adding teasing into the mix, with the promise of it moving past just words and maybe into the physical. God, Lance wants the physical part; he’d really enjoyed yesterday when they'd gotten each other off. He kicks his pants over to his boots and tugs off his underwear, until he’s butt naked. He’d be tempted to tease a little more, but he’s well aware that he’s covered in grime and drying blood, which absolutely is not sexy. He’s also aware that the full extent of his foray into the Galra base hasn’t been absorbed by his mind yet, because he’d been too busy not getting killed and then getting clear of the base without being spotted. As much as he'd love to get off, he also wants to shower and cleanse his body, so that they can sit together and Lance can download what he’s learnt to Keith. They need to make decisions. Only then will Lance have the luxury of letting Keith take care of him properly. Only then will he be able to let go of the tight control he has himself under.

Keith ushers him into the shower stall with a gentle hand on his lower back, shedding his own clothes afterward. Lance turns around and ducks his head beneath the water, the fine spray warm and soothing against his skin. It’s only when his skin starts to get wet that he realizes how caked in grime he is. Keith distracts him for a moment; firm, muscled body pressed briefly against Lance’s back as he ducks under the water to get wet, hand resting on Lance’s hip. Lance has thought about Keith in this very position a lot, and it makes his mouth go dry with anticipation. For a moment, it’s all he can think about, how Keith would feel pressed against him, his body weight pushing Lance into the bed (or the wall, or whatever, he’s not particularly picky in his fantasies), while he drives his thick alpha cock into Lance's willing, eager body. 

His thoughts are shattered when he feels Keith lean in, nose pushed into his neck, against his glands, searching for his scent while he holds Lance close. Lance lets out a shuddery breath, because this gesture is familiar to them both, and Lance drops his head to the side to give Keith better access, his hand coming up to card through Keith’s thick, wet hair and hold him in place. Keith’s hand moves from his hip across his stomach, touch light and reverent, and Lance can almost place the moment Keith hesitates and comes back to himself. He places a kiss against the sensitive skin of Lance’s neck, and then reaches for the soap.

Lance is partly disappointed, but partly enjoying being pampered by his alpha. The soap Keith grabs also has some sort of fine scrub in it. Whatever it is, it creates the most fantastically soft lather while cutting through the grime over his torso with ease. Keith turns Lance around and fusses over him, cleaning away the evidence of the day, hands pushing against Lance’s wet skin, massaging as he goes, working from Lance’s stomach upward and then back down, turning him around to work on his back. Lance feels like putty in Keith’s hands, clay ready to be molded, and he leans his palms against the tiled wall to support himself, letting out a soft moan of encouragement when Keith gets his thumbs into Lance’s lower back, pressing and releasing the tension he’d built up there.

“Fuuuuck,” Lance breaths out. “That feels so good, Keith.”

He can feel the smile Keith presses into his shoulder blade, hidden in his kiss, as his hands move south, finishing cleaning Lance off, and then working down his thighs and calves before standing back up and casually passing the bar of soap to Lance. Lance fumbles the soap for a moment. “Awww, no handy, mullet?” he says, faking a pout. “I could have gone for a quick one.”

Keith snorts inelegantly, and finishes washing off. Then he fixes Lance with a considering look and Lance pauses, soapsuds all over his hands, as Keith backs him slowly against the tiles once more, one hand on his hip. “Hmmm,” Keith says, eyes dropping down to Lance’s (split) lip and then back up to meet his eyes. “I’m so tempted right now; you have no idea how much I wanna make you mine. But…” he pauses, and Lance thinks that, sometimes, Keith does know _exactly_ the effect he has on Lance, even if he acts like he’s socially inept half the time, “I think I’m gonna wait until tomorrow night. You know what tomorrow night is, right?”

Lance licks his lips and tries to form a sentence. It’s hard work. “Um, maybe?” _Fuck no_, he doesn't; he has no idea. Not with Keith looking at him like he's gonna eat him alive. 

Keith laughs softly. “Tomorrow is the Night of Song. I’m gonna make you _sing_, Lance. Until everyone knows you’re mine and that I belong to you.”

“Oh,” Lance breathes. “_Oh_. O-okay.” He swallows. Damn, Keith is dangerous when he’s being seductive. Also when he’s wet from the shower. It’s a lethal combination.

“I’ll let you finish up,” Keith says with another grin that’s equal parts adorable and also super sexy. “I’m gonna go dispose of your old clothes so nobody asks any awkward questions.” He leans in and brushes his thumb across Lance’s lip where it’s not cut. “See you soon, cadet.” Keith’s final sally is a wink, leaving Lance standing under the cooling spray, hands all soapy, mouth open in disbelief.

Who is this guy and what happened to stoic, awkward Keith? Lance flops back against the tiled walls, knees locking so he doesn’t slide to the ground.

_Daaaamn_, he’s fucked.

* * *

Keith looks a little less amused once Lance sheepishly comes out of the bathroom, clutching a towel around his hips.

"Lance…" Keith growls from the bed, where he's sitting cross-legged. Lance's map is off to one side, folds smoothed out like Keith has been committing it to memory like Lance requested.

Keith's displeased rumble is probably due to Lance's injuries, which, now that he's clean, are more visible in the lamp light. His stomach is tender, he has a cut lip, which is puffy and a little swollen. That should go down if he ices it, he thinks. Keith is probably a little more freaked out over the contusions that grace his neck on either side; thin rope burn, and a matching mark against his wrist where he'd brought his hand up to avoid being strangled. He has bruises on his forearms as well from protecting himself, and while his brown skin hides some of the bruising, it's probably going to look worse later when it starts to heal.

As much as Lance would like to fall into bed and sleep for the next month, he realizes that they need to debrief on the mission. Business comes first; sleep later. He’s used to it; Shiro always made them go through missions, failed or successful, while the important points were still fresh in the team’s minds.

He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, pulling a pair of joggers from his pack and slipping them on, dropping the towel with a mental note to pick it up later and hang it up. He sits next to Keith on the edge of the bed, hands in his lap. He’s sort of expecting what happens next; the way Keith slowly reaches out a hand, fingers sliding gently across the back of Lance’s, turning it over and tracing over the red, thin line of the rope burn on his wrist. His eyes flick up to Lance’s, and then to his neck, and Keith turns a little so he’s facing Lance. “Can I?” he asks.

Lance isn’t sure what he’s asking for, but he trusts Keith with his life. “Whatever you want,” he replies. 

Keith reaches out, fingers brushing with equal care over Lance’s shoulder, the join of his neck. His touch is almost reverent, and Lance closes his eyes briefly, because Keith’s expression is so soft, so open and intense he doesn’t know how to deal with it, how to react. He’s not rejecting Keith; he just doesn’t understand what that looks means yet. Lance has theories, but he’s not going to push his own hopes for them onto Keith. 

His touch sends shivers down Lance’s spine, makes his belly tighten, and when Lance opens his eyes again, Keith’s lips are parted, wet like he’s just licked them. Lance doesn’t pause this time, he stops waiting, leans forward to claim a kiss for himself. Fuck dynamics, he wants to kiss Keith and so he’s gonna do it. He presses forward, twisting his body toward Keith, resting one hand on his thigh, just above his knee, for balance. Keith’s thigh tenses and relaxes under his touch, and when Lance deepens the kiss, tongue pushing past the unresisting seam of Keith’s lips, Keith makes a quiet noise of want and lets him in. That surrender goes straight to Lance’s dick, a rush that makes him feel lightheaded, body tight. Keith’s hand is heavy against his neck, his scent glands, his thumb rubbing gently over the delicate skin. Lance slides his hand up Keith’s thigh, feeling him lean back, opening his body to Lance’s touch. God, Lance wants Keith _so much_ that his head is swimming with it. He’s never had the opportunity to have Keith pliant under his touch. Keith is always a livewire; always moving, a solid force, bending everything to his will around him. Lance has no problem including himself in that; he’s happy to be molded in whatever position Keith wants him in, hell yeah. But this… this is heady in itself, this momentary surrender. It tells Lance that Keith is just as into him as he is into Keith. He’s not sure how he’s ever doubted that before.

It’s that, that little acknowledgement of his own fallibility and, on the other end of the spectrum, Keith’s growing devotion, that has Lance pulling away a little, turning the kiss from hot and passionate to something fonder, something gentler. It doesn’t stop Keith from making another little noise of approval, and Lance moves his hand to Keith’s jaw, stroking over his skin, pushing his unruly hair back with soft, soothing strokes. His body aches for Keith, and he wants to press forward and indulge his senses, but they have work to do first. They have to be responsible and then they can be indulgent with each other later.

Keith seems to sense this; placing tiny kisses along Lance’s jaw, and Lance tilts his head back to let Keith cover as much skin as he wants, hand on his neck and holding him still. Just a little bit of control, and that makes Lance smirk. Judging by the press of a smile and then a kiss against his shoulder, Keith knows why Lance is smirking.

When Keith moves back, he’s flushed, color high on his cheeks, eyes hazy with desire, lips plump and red. Lance is rendered speechless for the moment, unable to believe he gets to see his alpha like this, soft and pliant. Lance has a brief moment where he wants to dive right back in, see exactly how mussed up and flustered he can get Keith, how quickly he can make him come. 

“Debrief,” Keith rumbles, voice husky. 

Lance sighs. He knows Keith is right, but he’s gonna posture a little because he’s _Lance_. It’s what he does. “You sure, cowboy?” he asks, leaning in for another gentle kiss, this time placed on Keith’s jaw, just under his ear.

“Lance.” Keith sounds exasperated, fondly amused. They both know what Lance is doing.

“Fine, fine.” Lance sits back up, adjusting his joggers, because _wow_. Thank god they stretch, yanno? Keith looks like he’s a lot less comfortable, shifting in his jeans like the turned on emo boy he looks like. This explains a _lot_. Lance stretches, standing up. He feels like he’s gotta move, ‘cause he doesn’t think he can sit still patiently and explain all of today's shit and remain calm and collected. “Okay, where do want me to start?”

“Wherever you want,” Keith says with a raised eyebrow, watching Lance. He looks slightly amused, but he won’t be for long, Lance thinks.

“Okay, the beginning, I guess?” Lance thinks for a moment, and then goes through his initial foray into the basement of the temple, touching on the general layout, his impressions. Slipping into the usual frame of mind he gets when he’s explaining what he’s observed. The team values Lance for a lot of things, but for this thing alone he’s worth his weight in gold. Lance is an observer by nature; he never misses his mark for a reason. His brain is sharp, honed to notice the stuff others might overlook. It’s an incredibly useful quirk, and Lance pulls all his observations back up to the surface, trying to organize it all in a way that might make sense to Keith. Keith, for his part, just listens, watches Lance gesture and pace as he describes his journey through the alchemic wormhole and into the Galra base. He doesn’t interrupt, preferring to let Lance spill his thoughts before they go over everything together afterward.

Keith remains less calm once Lance starts to explain about his run-in with Smiley, but despite his agitation, he doesn’t stop Lance. “So you believe that whatever these codes are, they are important?” Keith asks. He reaches for the map he’s been memorizing. “Any idea where you were?”

“The base? Not really.” Lance hesitates, thinking over his experiences inside. No windows, no view ports. “Don’t think it was a ship,” he amends. “Couldn't feel any vibrations from space engines. Despite the usual Galra décor, the corridors were wider than normal. And where I came in through the wormhole, that section of the base was very much disused. Deserted corridors, dusty floors. Empty offices – at least until I stuck Smiley in one, anyway.”

“Disused or not, it could still have been a spaceship.” Keith raises an eyebrow. “But then we should have picked it up in orbit over the planet, unless it’s in a completely different system. Allura can move the Castle an indefinite distance; anything is possible.”

“I think it’s underground,” Lance muses. He stops pacing for a moment, hand on his hip. “There was a section of corridor I passed; the wall was wet and spongy. There was a lot of water trickling behind and over it. The floor was soaked in it and it wasn’t static. I could see it cascading down, I remember being worried that the corridor might actually collapse inward. The other give away? Concrete and brick. I don’t think they use that in spaceship construction.”

“They could,” Keith says, being difficult for no reason other than to get a rise out of Lance. “Weight isn’t an issue in space.”

Lance scoffs. “Of course they _could_, but why would you want to? It’s ugly for starters; metal has a nice decorative sheen to it and frankly, concrete is dank and crumbly and I’m likely to be buried alive under it if it collapses.” He makes a lemon face and raises an eyebrow, waiting for Keith to respond.

“Fair,” Keith says, a barely visible grin quirking up the corner of his mouth. “Carry on.”

“So yeah, I think it’s underground.” Lance manages to get a fake glare in, because he can. “I’m gonna go a step further though, and say it’s under the town, right here.”

“What?!”

_Now_ he has Keith’s attention. “It’s been bugging me. Where’s the water coming from? And then I remembered the lake just inside the walled southeast section of the town, near that cliffside arena we flew over when we came in in the Green Lion.”

“Do you know how difficult it would be to hide a Galra base under the town, Lance? That’s crazy!” Keith picks up the map and glares at it, like it’s personally offended him.

“It’s not difficult if the base was _already_ here, Keith. Ten thousand years, remember? That’s when Rax said the Galra invaded this planet; it was one of their first conquests. Couldn’t a town have evolved over the top of it? Think about it for a moment; it’s perfect, immovable camouflage. It’s brilliant.”

“Okay.” Keith shifts. “Okay, so let’s hypothesize that you are right. What does that give us in light of this new information? Does it tell us anything about the codes?”

Lance let’s his eyes slide closed, focusing, trying to pull any relevant information to the surface. He opens his eyes again, fixing Keith with a thoughtful look. “The codes are important enough that knowing the path to the wormhole to get into the vault isn’t enough. You have to have Galra DNA to enter. This is where you are going to be essential to the mission.”

“You’re already assuming we are going in there,” Keith says carefully.

“What, you’re gonna go without me? Pull the solo mission card?” Lance stares Keith down. “I don’t think so. You get punchy when you’re on your own, and besides, the only way in that we know of is through the _omega_ temple, and you are not an omega.”

“That's beside the point!” Keith throws his arms up in the air. “How do you think I’m gonna get in to the base even if I’m with you? I still smell like alpha!”

Lance can almost hear the frustrated ‘dipshit’ at the end of that sentence. He opens his mouth and then shuts it, momentarily stumped. “Okay, so you smelling like alpha is not the thing that’s gonna stop us from completing this mission,” Lance deadpans. “Oh, wait!” He brightens, pointing to the robes he arrived in earlier, which Keith had folded and placed on the chest. “You can wear that; it’s covered in my scent. Probably quite strongly since I was feeling a lot while I wore it.”

“You mean you sweated all over it,” Keith points out.

“Yes, but you like me all sweaty.”

“I like you sweaty and _on your back_.”

Lance spins around and starts pacing again. “Okay, so moving on,” he clears his throat, “we can get into the base. I can get you to the strongbox. If I’m compromised, you still have the map memorized in your head. Providing that goes well, you get us into the strongbox/vault thingy with your super special DNA. Then we find out what the fuck the codes do.”

Keith is wearing a bemused expression, watching Lance pace restlessly. “You said something about the Cradle? One of the druids mentioned it you said?”

“Yeah, he said ‘The Cradle thanks you,’ – oh, and something about the codes not working until the new lunar cycle?”

Keith pauses. "Did you say 'The Cradle?" His voice is deceptively calm, but Lance can see the way Keith's face changes, his eyes widening like he can't believe what he just heard. He shifts on the bed. "Lance, are you sure that's what you heard?"

"Of course I'm sure. What's going on?"

Keith licks his lips. "Motherfucker," he breathes. He looks up at Lance. "The Blade have picked up this codename for a good few years on varying long-range radio bursts. Sometimes we've caught it in Galra ship-to-ship chatter, or at listening posts that the Resistance mans. The Cradle is a code name for a secret base of Zarkon's – it's the central facility where they control all the sentries from, and also where they send out new instructions to those sentries. It's short for 'The Cradle of Life'. Lance, this is where they build all the sentries in the universe; all the sentries that the Galra Empire control. Nobody has ever been able to find out where the location is. Ever."

"Fuuuuck," Lance echoes, running a hand down his face. "Holy shitfuck. This is huge." He spins on his heel and starts pacing again. "What are the codes for then?" 

"Programming?" Keith says. "Passwords to activate or deactivate the Cradle, or the sentries?"

"Oh my god," Lance breathes. "What if we have the ability to pickpocket the fucking codes and shut down every Galra sentry bot in the galaxy – the universe – at once? Do you have any idea what we could do with those codes?" He pauses. "We can't call this in. We don't have a way to contact anyone."

"That's the last thing we are gonna do, Lance," Keith states, slashing a hand to the side. "We are not calling this in, even if we could. No fucking way. We are not going to draw any kind of attention to ourselves at all. The fact that you got out of there without anyone coming after you is incredible enough as it is. We lay low, go in, do our best to get the codes and get out. End of story."

Lance nods, because of course Keith is right. They need to remain invisible, to be as normal, as unremarkable, as possible until they've made their move. They need to continue to be tourists, festival goers looking for luck from the local god. They can do that.

“Okay, so about that lunar cycle thing one of the druids mentioned," Lance says, forcing his brain back to business. "That seems like a key point in all of this."

"Most passwords would be reset regularly, that makes sense," Keith says, relaxing a little now that he realizes Lance isn't going to argue. "I'm guessing different sets of codes are active at different times. In the past we’ve done Blade missions and have run foul of that, because the codes we had for entry and exits had expired and we didn't expect it. At least we’ve got a head start on this – we know when the new codes will be operational and active and most likely what they are for. That’s good – no point in rushing in now; we’ll wait until two nights from now, then go in when we know they work. We'll have a window of time they'll be active and usable before they reset.”

Lance smirks. “Oh good, that means you can still _make me sing_ tomorrow night, just like you promised.” Lance puts his hands on his hips and sticks out his tongue. He’s aware he’s shirtless, in joggers, and probably looks ridiculous. Surprisingly, Keith.exe looks like he’s just stopped operating; eyes wide, mouth parted, slightly blushy.

There’s a pause as Lance revisits the last few seconds in his head. Yep, he may have just goaded his alpha there, deliberately teased him just a little bit, and while they were supposed to be having a serious conversation.

“Hmm,” Keith makes an agreeable little noise. “I did promise that, yes. I look forward to it.” With that, Keith lays back on the bed, hands behind his head, arching his back just a little to get comfortable. He seems content, for the moment, to shelve the serious conversations. “Okay, so, day off tomorrow, go in and get the codes at the new moon cycle,” he reiterates. It’s not really for Lance’s benefit, just a team leader finalizing their strategy. Lance gets that; always good to make sure everyone is aware of the final plan.

Keith pats the space next to him, glancing up to check on Lance. “Coming over?” he asks.

Lance doesn’t need a second invitation; he’s slinking onto the bed before his brain can think about it, laying down next to Keith, fitting perfectly into his side. Keith moves his hand so Lance can get comfortable, shifting enough so he can rest his head on Keith’s chest, listen to his steady heartbeat, and slip an arm over his waist.

It’s like they were made for each other, he thinks sleepily. He could exist forever, right here in Keith’s arms. Wrapped in his alpha, where he’s supposed to be, breathing his scent and basking in the familiar warmth of his skin. And that thought follows him down into sleep, like a gentle lullaby, soft and soothing.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the Night of Song. Lance finally understands what it means to sing for your alpha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shows up with Timmies* So... hey. I'm gonna stop appologizing for being late with this because I think we can all agree 2020 is kicking everyone's asses. Although I have already gotten part way through writing the next chapter already so I am expecting to have that one up in just under two weeks give or take ;)
> 
> This is mostly smut and the lead up to it, because we've all earned it. There's a lot more plot and the mission next time :)
> 
> Thanks for sticking around! Reminder you can come scream at me on Twitter as Caeseria_nsfw (age in bio please, no under 18's, sorry) and tumblr as Caeseria. <3

Lance is enjoying the late morning sun, sitting on the edge of the wooden porch outside their room at the inn. One leg lazily swings over the edge, the sole of his bare foot occasionally brushing against the flat stone that doubles up as a step. He has his sleep shorts on, although admittedly, he hasn't been wearing them the last couple of nights in bed because he's been sleeping naked, cuddled up next to Keith. He's wearing the shorts now because he doesn't want to give anyone who's outside an eyeful of his junk, but also because he's trying to heal the cut on his thigh in the most efficient way possible. He's found a small handheld medical doodad that Coran – or maybe Keith – had packed in his duffel, and is currently running it over and over the wound, watching it slowly knit back together, until it barely resembles an old scar. Another war wound to tell stories about later, he supposes. He had some success earlier with using the device on the lacerations on his neck and wrists; they are faded now, the bruising and cuts almost gone. It's kinda weird, he thinks, about how it's easier to heal a deep cut but that bruising is more complicated. He'll have to ask Coran exactly why that is.

"Hey."

Lance yelps and fumbles the device, and Keith reaches out to catch it deftly with one hand. "Oh my god, warn a dude before you sneak up on him!" Lance exclaims, swinging around to glare at Keith.

Keith grins. "What happened to Lance _'Nothing ever gets by me because I see everything'_ McClain?"

Lance sticks his lip out and pouts. "Everyone is allowed to have a day off, mullet." He stretches out his leg, checking his thigh over critically. "How does it look? Okay?"

Keith leans down and peers at it. "Looks good, although I guess you're stuck with the scar until it fades."

"Yeah, so much for flawless legs." Lance lets out a sigh. "Doesn't hurt anymore though. I got most of the lacerations on my neck, too."

Keith slides his fingers under Lance's chin, turning his head slightly as he looks. Lance can feel his face heat just a little as Keith holds him there, looking him over. He swallows and shifts, suddenly a little nervous under his scrutiny. Today is officially the Night of Song, which Keith has been talking about for a while. "Will you let me paint over these marks?" Keith asks finally.

"Huh?" Lance blinks up at Keith, confused for the moment. "Paint over them?"

Keith lets go of Lance's chin and traces his fingers softly over the lines he'd painted on Lance the other evening. "Yes, these. As your alpha I'm supposed to finish your marks so you can show them off tonight."

Lance smiles. "Oh! You don't have to do that, Keith." He drops his voice so no one can overhear. "Don't feel that you have to follow custom – it's just a mission."

"But I want to." Keith looks slightly belligerent, like he's daring Lance to argue with him. He frowns, and his face softens a little. "I like the idea of seeing you out in public, wearing my marks, showing everyone that you are mine. Will you let me finish it?"

Lance pauses, tries to imagine lying there for an hour while Keith paints all over the rest of his body. Last time he hadn't got anywhere near below the belt, and that had been… difficult enough to bear. Now that Lance knows Keith's touch – everywhere – this is going to be absolute torture and he has no doubt, judging by the wholly innocent look on Keith's face, that he is going to take advantage of that. Innocence be damned. "I'll be proud to wear your marks," he says finally, and Keith grins. "Did you get what you were looking for?" he asks. Keith had gone out earlier to scout for something or other; Lance had been half asleep and hadn’t really been paying attention to what Keith had been saying when he’d left.

"Yep." Keith sits down next to Lance on the edge of the porch, pulling Lance's bare foot into his lap and starting to massage the sole absentmindedly. Lance bites his lip; tries not to let a moan slip out of his mouth because _good god_, apparently Keith Kogane is a devil genius when it comes to foot massage, holy shit.

"I went looking to see if I could find a public bath that was open and not crowded," Keith explains, completely unaware of the affect his massage is having on Lance. "I thought it might be fun if we went together, but apparently, it being the Night of Song, they were all fully booked."

"Hmmnnm," Lance manages to squeak out, lips pressed together as Keith knuckles into the bottom of his left foot and releases tension Lance didn't even know he had. The sudden burst of adrenaline that follows tells Lance that Keith has also found a pressure point and Jesus, it feels good. He waggles his other foot and Keith takes the hint, starting to work on that next.

"So, one thing I also noticed while I was checking out the baths, that everyone else forgot to mention in the mission briefing," Keith says conversationally, "is that apparently everyone here on Falos has a blue dick. Good job we didn't just barge into the bathhouse without doing recon first."

Lance chokes on his own spit. Like, actually chokes on it and has to swallow rapidly, followed by flailing his hands around until Keith locates the beaker of water he'd brought out with him earlier and gets him a drink. "I'm sorry, _what_?" he blurts out after he's taken a swig of water.

Keith smirks. "Everyone on Falos has blue genitals."

"Yeah, yeah, I got that part," Lance hisses under his breath so he doesn't mortally offend anyone if they overhear. "Why the fuck does everyone have a blue dick? And is it like, fully blue, or just like ombre? Is it more blue at the tip or at the base? Are we talking full-on baby blue or like, my lion blue, or just squint-at-the-right-angle-and-it-might-pass-for-blue?"

Keith lets out a strangled noise that might be a laugh.

"Wait – " Lance says suddenly, holding up a hand. "Do Galra have purple dicks? Are humans the only ones with like, normal dicks?" His eyes goes round as he suddenly has a thought. "Do Galra women have – no wait, you're gay as fuck, you wouldn't even notice."

"Lance," Keith says, letting a laugh slip even though he's trying not to. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Lance blinks. "What the fuck _nothing_, Keith. Explain the blue dick thing now. Inquiring minds want to know _how_ you noticed this interesting and factual titbit of information."

"Er." Keith looks a bit like he's been cornered into oversharing, and he grabs Lance's right foot and digs his knuckle in and twists.

Lance winces. "Oh god," he blurts, "Keith, go easy. I'm not your stress toy."

Keith grins. "Not yet, you aren't, that's for later. Where was I? Oh yes, blue peen."

Lance flops back onto the porch deck and lays his arm over his eyes. "I surrender," he says. "Please stop talking. Never use the word 'peen' again, okay?"

Keith runs his fingers over Lance's sole for a few moments, soothing away his stress. Once he's done, he pats Lance on the top of his thigh. "Ready for a bath? We can use the one here in the room instead, and then I'll paint your marks."

A bath turns into a shared bath complete with backwashing, although Lance is sad that it doesn't degenerate into mutual hand jobs or something. It takes him a disappointingly long period of time to realize why. "You're holding out on me," he says, pointing a finger at Keith. 

"Yep." Keith is smoothing down the comforter on the bed. "Gonna make you _sing_ later."

"So you keep saying, but I think you are full of shit. You gotta work to get any kind of noise out of Lance Mcclain, I'll have you know."

Keith pauses and looks at Lance, raising an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

That expression actually has Lance pausing. "Yeahssss?" he says eventually, then, despite his better (internal) judgement, follows up with, "Do your worst, Kogane."

Under Keith's direction, Lance lays down on the bed, face first, and lets Keith play with him. He's supposed to be moisturizing his skin so the paint will lay properly, but it turns into an impromptu massage, and Lance is not going to argue with that. He tries to stay silent while Keith works at the knots in his lower back, then finishes with smoothing his palms up and over his shoulders, working at the muscles there before he sweeps his hands back down. Lance isn't ashamed to say he's turned on, because Keith has fantastic hands and he knows how to use them.

It takes Lance a few minutes to realize the firm touches of the massage have changed into something more sensual, and that Keith is now taking his time to explore his skin, to stroke across his heated body, touch light and delicate. Lance is _not_ going to squirm, he promises himself, even as Keith strokes down his spine and Lance finds himself spreading his legs a little, urging Keith on without words to do filthy things to his body. Keith ignores him, but works down over his thighs, slipping his hands between Lance's legs, brushing over the scent glands there. Lance does let out a small noise then, a humming approval, shifting on the bed to accommodate his growing erection, which Keith is totally ignoring, along with his ass.

Eventually, Lance is stewing in arousal, and Keith leans over and takes up the small pot of gold paint he's mixed earlier. This time, he's ready for the cool, wet touch of the brush as it glides sensuously between his shoulder blades and down, over his spine, dipping toward the swell of his ass and the scent gland at the base of his spine. Keith stops right before he reaches the cleft of Lance's ass, finishing the stroke with a dot; a punctuation mark. He loads the brush again and starts just above the dot, curving over the swell of Lance's bottom toward his hip, high above where his Adonis belt is, almost to his waist. Lance falls into a meditative state as Keith works, placing what he thinks must be complicated pattern of dots and curved lines along his spine. Once he's done he places the brush and ink back on the table and places a kiss just over Lance's tailbone, on his scent gland. That touch sends a warm thrill up Lance's spine, and he arches his back, raising his ass just enough to hint at presentation. Keith hums in appreciation, but doesn't touch further, other than to stroke his hand down Lance's flank, touching to gently check whether the paint is dry. "Turn over," he says, and Lance moves fluidly, pliant and willing to obey for the moment.

When Lance cracks open his eyes Keith is watching him. Their gazes meet, heavy with unspoken words, silent but loaded. Keith licks his lips, letting his eyes wander down Lance's body, all hard, lean muscle, his cock fully erect and resting on his stomach, curving toward his navel. Lance lets Keith look as much as he wants – Lance prides himself on his body and staying fit and in shape, and he likes feeling Keith's appreciative, hungry gaze directed at him. He wants to shift under that gaze, to preen, but he knows that that isn't what Keith wants right now; he wants Lance to be still. Lance is rewarded when Keith leans down slowly and places a kiss on his belly. Lance can't help it; his cock twitches at the touch of Keith's hair, brushing over his belly and thighs, and he lets out a shuddering sigh. Keith's palm glides over his side and hip, holding him still as he lowers his mouth to the very tip of Lance's cock, placing a kiss through lips parted slightly, just enough for Lance to feel the press of a tongue. Keith's touch on his hip keeps him from rocking up into the kiss, to push his cock between those soft, plush lips like he wants to. 

Keith reaches for the paint again, smiling at Lance. "Could that actually be restraint you're showing, Lance?" he laughs.

Lance stretches languidly, just to give Keith an eyeful of what he could have if he was inclined to reach for it. "Only while it suits me to show restraint," Lance counters with a raised eyebrow. "Especially if I might get a reward later," he pushes with a wink.

Keith laughs again, dropping his gaze back down to the expanse of skin in front of him, stroking over it with his fingertips until Lance shivers. "Now be a good boy and keep still for me while I finish your paint."

Lance cooperates; mainly because he can see how much this means to Keith, to leave his marks on Lance as swirls and lines of gold, to mark him in ways which don't bruise. Keith paints a single band of gold around his throat, hiding the last of the contusions there, emphasizing his long neck and then curving down over his shoulders and wrapping around his arms and over his forearms. The glide of the brush, laden with wet paint, is both soothing and arousing, leaving Lance a contradictory mess by the time he's finished completing his work, the lines connecting his hips curving over and down his Adonis belt, to meet at the base of his flushed, eager cock. 

By the time the paint has dried, Keith is dressed and ready to go out ("Out! Why the hell are we going out, Keith?!") and he's waiting on Lance. Keith is determined to make the night before the mission end some form of bacchanalian celebration, but going light on the whole drinking thing. Lance has to agree; he doesn't mind having fun, but the last thing either of them would consider is getting drunk and having a hangover on what is the resolving day of their mission. 

"Where are we going again?" Lance asks, slipping into a pair of low slung pants with wide legs that barely cling to his hips. Keith's paint – the part that arcs over his hips – is almost entirely visible in these pants, and Lance has to double check he doesn't have dick neck showing. There's a fine line between looking unobtainable and sexy and just looking like a tramp. Lance prefers to not do the latter if he can help it. Keith is uncharacteristically quiet – more so than usual – and Lance looks up to confirm he's still in the room. Keith is staring, blinking occasionally, but that's it. "See something you like, cowboy?" Lance drawls, cocking a hip obnoxiously.

Keith comes back to the room slowly, wetting his lips as his gaze focuses back on Lance's face, rather than his hipbones and bare belly. "Uh, I thought we'd go to the amphitheatre for a little bit, see some of the fights, and then hit a bar for a drink on the way back? Some dancing maybe?"

"Can you actually dance?" Lance says. "I don't think I've ever seen you dance, other than a couple of random times you had to socialize and play nice as a paladin."

Keith grins, crossing his arms. "I can dance. You just haven't been anywhere with me that requires _that_ kind of dancing."

"What, grinding on your partner like a horny teenager?" Lance grins. He reaches for his shirt, which is basically just a diamond of thin, black gauze with gold embroidery on it that leaves nothing to the imagination. It gathers at the base of his throat, held in place with thin ties, and at the small of his back with the same. It leaves his shoulders and his entire back open to view, showing off the muscles, Keith's bonding bite, and his gold paint as it slides provocatively along his spine and further down out of view below the waist band of his pants.

Keith doesn't respond, just lets a single raised eyebrow and his smirk speak volumes for him. "Ready to go?"

Lance leans over and swipes up the ear cuff Keith had bought for him, slipping it on until he can feel its comforting, familiar weight as it swings with the movement of his head. "Ready as ever," he replies. "Let's go do this amphitheatre thing."

* * *

Lance can't wait to get Keith's hands on him properly. Maybe his mouth as well. He's so keyed up – he has been all day if he's being honest. Keith has been carefully stoking the fires of Lance's desire since they woke; from the brief massage this morning, and then Keith spending time dragging that brush across his skin, painting Lance with his ownership with every crisp, golden stroke across his sensitive flesh. Even though they'd attended the games at the amphitheatre, even though it's allowed Lance a brief respite to calm his excited, racing heart, all it takes is one heavy look from Keith, eyes fixed on Lance with intent, and he's half hard again, belly flipping with that sweet ache of desire that's so familiar to Lance when he's around his alpha.

On the way back from the bar, they stop to grab a snack at a small street stall. Lance has what tastes like minced lamb wrapped in vine leaves, dipped in honey. The honey is sticky, its sticks sweetly to Lance's fingers, and Keith leans forward, grabbing Lance's wrist and pulling him closer. In plain sight of everyone on the street Keith laps the dripping honey from Lance's fingers with his tongue, one finger at a time, while never breaking eye contact. While Lance stands there, stupefied with lust, a smirk dances at the very corner of Keith's generous mouth, as if he knows exactly what he's doing. Lance is helpless to do anything except let him finish cleaning him up, tongue dipping between his fingers to chase the last of the honey. The only sound Lance makes is a strangled moan deep in the back of his throat, a sound that alerts every alpha on the street corner that here is an omega in his prime, ready to be bedded and fucked. Keith's marks and their bond prevents any other alpha from taking it any further than acknowledging Lance's need, but it's clear that at least a couple of them of them aren't unaffected by the noise of pure want that Lance makes.

Keith finishes his teasing, placing a final kiss to Lance's fingertips, and Lance reverses Keith's grip so that he can pull his alpha in, to rest one hand on his hip and nudge him toward the shadows of a nearby stall. Keith goes willingly for the moment, content to indulge Lance, and Lance presses Keith into the wall, sliding his hands up under Keith's shirt and feeling the way his muscles jump under the warm layer of his skin. "I'm going to kill you," Lance breathes hotly into Keith's ear. He's aware he sounds breathless, half out of his mind with need. "I can't take this much longer, Keith. Either take me home and claim me, or for the love of – "

"Careful," Keith whispers, sliding a hand around Lance's nape, holding him flush to his body. "Shhh, I got you."

Lance's breath hitches, that hand on his nape instinctively pinning him in place; a single touch from his alpha that Lance is almost helpless against. He tightens his fingers around Keith's waist, blunt nails pricking at Keith's skin and making him shift with discomfort. "You are the world's worst tease, Kogane," he hisses. His skin itches with need; his scent glands are swollen. He can feel it, the skin sensitive to touch right where Keith's hand rests at his nape, on the inside of his wrists, between his thighs and even the base of his spine near his tailbone. Every shift of Keith's hand sends a cascade of tight, sweet desire racing through his system, and Lance realizes belatedly that this feels very similar to how he’d felt just before Keith bonded with him at the start of the mission.

Keith shifts. "Lance? You okay?" He must be able to sense that something's off, that maybe Lance is overwhelmed by all the teasing. "Lance, your scent's changing," Keith says hesitantly. He nuzzles into Lance's neck, right at the join of his shoulder, and breathes in. "Fuck, you smell so good." He shudders, fingertips tightening against Lance's nape, and there's another racing cascade of lust pushing its way through Lance's system, trickling down his spine and making his body restless and his scent glands pulse and itch. He's getting wet too, slick with the need to get Keith inside him as soon as possible.

"Take me home," Lance says urgently. "Please?"

Keith nods, keeping eye contact for a few seconds before letting his gaze roam over Lance's body hungrily. "Yep, home," he says, tugging Lance forward and back into the crowded street.

Fortunately, they aren't far from the inn – no more than ten minutes away – but the journey is made all the more fraught with tension by the feel of Keith's skin against his in the dark; Keith's addictive scent, a need to keep him close and not let go. Keith's scent is bright and clear and their bond is still full of mischief and desire and the promise of _more _when they finally get back to their room. 

Keith pushes open the gate into the gardens and they slip inside. The air is laden with perfume, heavy with the scent of blossoms warmed by the spring night air. Some of the blossoms are already starting to drop, to scatter the ground with vibrant blues and pinks and soft whites; a bruised carpet that releases more heady scent as they walk across it.

Lance glances behind him, checking to make sure that Keith is right there. Keith smiles, raises an eyebrow, and for a moment Lance pauses, because that gesture is so _Keith_. For a split second, they aren't here on Falos but back on the castleship, and Lance expects to hear the roar of his Lion at any moment, an amused tug at the back of his mind. Lance can always feel Red, and to a certain degree Blue, but they are faint, a distant, familiar feeling of love and curiosity tucked safely away in the back of his mind until he returns to the ship.

Keith moves to push open the door to their room, his hand brushing over Lance's hip, and it's the final straw for Lance, the atmosphere between them charged with excitement and desire. Keith barely gets the door shut before Lance is turning toward Keith. 

Keith is watching Lance like a hawk, every move he makes. His body language is tense, he's wound tight, clearly aroused, cheeks dusted with a faint flush, eyes greedily drinking Lance in as he watches him. They are standing on the precipice; neither one making a move but both ready to break.

Lance steps closer, until their chests are almost brushing. He's panting softly, feels lightheaded with desire, a little high on pheromones. Keith's gaze is lidded, and he licks his lips as he watches Lance, staring at his lips, his mouth. So close, exchanging breaths, and Keith slowly leans nearer, tilting his head. Lance wants to kiss Keith so badly, but he knows if he does he'll be lost to it all, to the whims of his body and of Keith's. There's one thing he wants just as much, has thought about doing for a long, long time. That thought has taken him through many a cold and lonely night in space, and what better time to make it reality than right now? He's helpless to his own whims as he sinks to his knees before Keith, looking up at him as he rests there for a moment, like a supplicant to his god. 

"Lance." Keith breathes out Lance's name on a shuddering sigh, reaching forward to brush his fingers through Lance's hair, fingers tangling in the thick strands, pushing it away from his face. Lance rests his hands on Keith's hips, leans forward until he can nuzzle into the hard length straining at the front of Keith's pants. His eyes slip closed as he takes in Keith's scent, much stronger here, and he can feel his own body respond. He's definitely producing slick now, and he reaches down and presses the heel of his hand to the base of his cock, trying to stave off orgasm. He's teetering on the edge already, Keith's scent pushing him closer, and Lance lets out a rough noise of want, deep at the back of his throat as he opens his mouth, fitting his lips around the head of Keith's confined cock. 

Lance’s fingers scrabble at the fastening of Keith's pants, getting them open enough to expose hard, hot flesh. He can feel Keith's stomach muscles jump beneath his fingertips, the strength in his hips as he holds himself in check and lets Lance explore, mouthing over his cock. Lance pushes Keith's pants down further, over his ass, and has a moment where he can't decide if he wants to grab that ass or something else. _Get it together, McClain_, he thinks, _choose a target_. If Lance had been less cock-hungry he might have laughed at the sharpshooter pun, but as it is, he's far too distracted by the fact that he has Keith Kogane's cock in close proximity to his mouth, _finally_. Lance slides his fingers around the base of Keith's generous cock and tilts forward enough to get his mouth around the head. The noise Keith makes is obscene, and Lance glances upward, first in concern and then with a certain amount of pride. He grins a little, sliding down Keith's length experimentally, watching the way Keith's pupils widen, the way his fingers tangle in Lance's hair to hold him in place. 

While Lance has a general idea of what he's supposed to be doing, he's making most of this up on the fly, going off the sounds that Keith's making, the way his fingers tighten in Lance's hair when he sinks down as far as he can, pressing his tongue against the thick vein on the underside on the way back up. Cheeks hollowed, Lance knows he probably presents a pretty picture on his knees like this, needy and wanton. The sharp, bitter taste of pre-come floods Lance's mouth and he moans, hand coming around to grab a handful of Keith's ass, pushing him closer, wanting to taste more of him as he loses himself to the rhythm. 

"Fuck, fuck, Lance," Keith is chanting under his breath. The next time Lance looks up, Keith's eyes are slitted, and it takes a moment to realize how tense Keith's body is, how on edge he is, how much he's holding back; and not just because of his Galra side. Lance whines deep in the back of this throat at the thought of Keith letting go and just taking him apart like he wants to. He can feel how wound up Keith is through the bond now that he's searching for it, and if he pushes further he can feel how in awe Keith is, that Lance would want to do this for him, how much it excites him. How much he has to hold back and let Lance do this, let Lance play with him like he teased Lance earlier in the day. 

And damn, it's only then Lance realizes how close he is himself to coming just from having his mouth on Keith. He's almost inclined to let it happen, provided he can feel the rush of Keith's come in the back of his throat at the same time. Some of that trickles down the bond, maybe enough that Keith can sense what Lance is planning. He snakes his hand between Lance's lips and his heaving stomach, and gets a firm grip around the base of his cock, at the same time pulling Lance gently but firmly backward.

"Fuck," Keith gasps. "Don't wanna come like this." 

Lance whines, aware he sounds like a spoiled brat but, seriously, has that ever stopped him? No. "Keith," he admonishes, "I was enjoying that."

Keith seems to be struggling for words, face flushed and lips red like maybe he's been biting them. Lance wants to bite them too, wants to kiss Keith senseless until they both can't think and Keith has sunk into his body, claimed him fully and painted him deep with his come. 

Keith growls at that; he's getting better at visualizing the feelings that Lance is sending him through the bond. Lance staggers to his feet, steps backward toward the bed. He reaches to the small of his back, fingertips brushing over the scent gland at the base of his spine, releasing more of his sweetening scent into the air. Keith takes a step closer in interest, watching Lance like a hawk, gaze intent. Lance gets the laces of his top undone, pulls it over his head to reveal the lines of crisp gold paint Keith had left on his body. His marks, glistening in gold, highlighted with a thin sheen of sweat and arousal. He throws the shirt to the side and reaches to unbutton his pants, taking another step closer, back toward the bed as Keith follows him. He shimmies his way out of his pants, putting himself on display so that Keith can get a good look. Lance strokes his hand down his own cock, touch light, aware that anything could possibly set him off, especially with Keith looking like he does right now – like he wants to eat Lance alive. 

Lance is too wound up to wait – and honestly, fuck dynamics and who should be doing what to whom – he reaches out and grabs Keith's wrist, tugging him forward. As soon as Keith is off balance Lance puts his ankle behind Keith's, just like they would sparring, and sweeps forward, twisting his body weight. The move puts Keith on his back on the bed (with a surprised grunt) and Lance is on him immediately, using his body to pin Keith down. Lance settles his hips over Keith's and grinds against him. Both of them let out a shuddering sigh, and Lance leans down, licking into Keith's mouth with an intensity that's almost frightening. 

A small prick of pain alerts Lance to the fact Keith is fast losing control – he's got his fangs out, and when Lance pulls back to check, licking at his lip, Keith's eyes are slitted, turning golden. Lance huffs out a laugh, a hum of approval that swiftly turns to a moan when Keith grabs his hips and grinds upward, sliding their cocks alongside each other. Lance remembers this from the other day, how much he enjoyed the sensation, except now he's on top and Keith may have his hands on Lance's hips, but he's letting Lance set the pace. 

Lance leans in for another kiss, less frantic this time but still passionate, loving the way Keith meets him on equal ground, neither one taking full control. Keith's still got his pants on, and Lance reaches between them, trying to get them off by kicking until they are past his ankles. Keith laughs, breath huffing against Lance's throat, across his aching scents glands, and Lance shudders at the thought of Keith biting him again. He can feel a tight burst of interest across their bond, like Keith wants to but doesn't want to push, followed by a wave of all-encompassing need and desire. It makes Lance pliant in Keith's hands for a moment, long enough for Keith to slide his hand over Lance's hip, across the swell of his ass. Lance pushes up into Keith's hand, dipping down for another kiss as Keith's fingertips find the sensitive gland at the base of his tailbone. Lance shudders, body trembling as that touch sends sensation zinging through his body, cascading through his other glands in a chain reaction. 

Keith's fingers dip lower, trailing through the slick around Lance's hole, and then pushing in. Lance's body has done the work for him; he's loose already, loose enough for Keith to slide in one finger and then a second, thrusting in with a slow pumping motion that has Lance rolling his hips backward to impale himself further. Lance breaks the kiss and works his way along Keith's jaw, down his neck, grazing his teeth along the skin there, teasing at the possibility of biting. Keith lets him, vulnerable but trusting, but he begins to fuck Lance in earnest with his fingers, until he can easily work Lance open with three. 

"Will you let me have you?" Keith says in a rush, leaning closer to nuzzle Lance's neck. "God, I wanna fuck you so bad."

"Ngh, yes, please." Lance makes a noise; he's horny and desperate and not making sense. He does know he wants this; has done since long before they started down this path together. He forces himself to pull away from Keith, to sit up. He rolls his hips backward, feeling Keith's erection brush between his cheeks, a promise of what's to come. Keith gives him a final couple of thrusts with his fingers before he pulls out, twisting his wrist and making Lance jolt with pure pleasure.

Lance reaches behind him, gets his fingers around that hard, beautiful cock of Keith's and rubs against it, loving the way it feels between the cheeks of his ass, the way the head catches on his rim when he presses forward. Keith lays beneath him, lets Lance play a little. His looks so different with his eyes slitted like this, a hint of gold playing near the iris, his mouth parted, hint of fangs. It sends a surge of dangerous want through Lance, like he's playing with fire, something barely contained beneath Keith's skin ready to be set free. He can feel the power in Keith's body, held tightly in check, and Lance wonders how little or how much it would take to do so.

Keith rolls his hips just a little; enough for Lance to guide his cock to his ready hole. Keith grasps Lance's hips, whispering a careful, "Steady, sweetheart," to Lance, a reminder to go slowly. There's a surprising amount of initial resistance and then the head of Keith's cock pops through the ring of muscle. The sudden, foreign, feeling of being partly filled makes Lance freeze on a gasp, hands pushing against Keith's pecs, as he struggles with the completely new sensation. _Oh god_, he thinks_, oh god. It's too much. This is –_

"You okay?" Keith has frozen, unmoving, for the moment. He frowns a little, eyes starting to clear in concern as more of Keith's human side returns. "Lance?"

Lance nods furiously. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Oh my god I think I'm gonna – " His hips twitch forward, eagerly searching out this sudden, overwhelming pleasure, and as he moves, sinks down further on Keith's large cock, he realizes too late what's happening. "Oh fuck," he gasps as Keith's cock grazes past his prostate. Lance jerks forward, seating himself those last few inches in one quick movement, and then he's coming untouched, pleasure rolling in waves through him. In the distance he hears Keith grunt, feels him lengthen and harden further inside him, fingers digging into the meat of Lance's hips to steady him through his orgasm. Lance throws his head back, muscles in his ass tightening like a vice around Keith's cock even as his own cock pulses, come smattering onto Keith's abs below him. 

Lance takes a shuddering breath, chest heaving, and it's a good minute before he relaxes enough to check back in with the world. Keith still has a vice like grip on his hips, holding him still, although Lance's body is wracked with tiny tremors as his orgasm recedes. "Wow," Lance manages finally, opening his eyes. He shifts, grinning down at Keith, who's still rock hard inside him, impossibly large and filling him up perfectly. Lance wriggles, and Keith groans, swallowing thickly as Lance reaches out and runs his fingers through the come that's decorating Keith's stomach. He pushes it into Keith's skin, marking him, all the while watching; waiting. 

Judging by Keith's expression he knows exactly what Lance is doing. He grabs for Lance's wrist, holding him still as he cleans his fingers of come. "Hmm," Keith says eventually. "You taste so good." That's the only warning Lance gets; one minute he's sitting pretty and enjoying the view, and the next he's on his back, legs around Keith's waist and wrists above his head as Keith grins down at him, looking smug.

He leans down and swipes his tongue across Lance's lips, teasingly pulling away when Lance tries to engage him in a proper kiss. "You have no idea how long I have wanted to be inside you," Keith says, voice gravelly and deep. "How many times I've wanted to press all your buttons the way you always press mine until one of us loses control." He nuzzles down into Lance's neck, a hint of teeth present against his skin. "You have no idea how long I've had to keep my alpha in check around you," he finishes. "I want to do all the things that we're taught are wrong; are taboo. I want to claim you; I want to see you with my marks decorating your neck. I want everyone to see it and know that I had you, that you are mine and that I belong to you equally."

Lance's mouth drops open in surprise and a warm flush of pleased arousal shivers through his body. Keith has no idea how much his words affect Lance, or, maybe he does? But Lance is Lance, and always will be, so instead he says, "Aw, mullet, you do care!" with a wink. 

Keith's eyes narrow contemplatively, and then he grins. If Lance didn't have a fat cock in his ass, maybe he would have understood that to be the warning it was. As it is…

Keith rolls his hips down, grinding into Lance's sensitive ass. When Lance gasps and arches beneath him, Keith growls, "I'm gonna wreck you, _cadet_." He punctuates that with another roll of his hips, a little harder this time, so that his stomach muscles drag over Lance's rapidly hardening cock. "I said was gonna make you sing. I wonder how loud I can make you do it."

It takes Keith a few moments to get into a rhythm that suits them both, a further minute until he finds exactly the right angle that makes Lance start to babble and beg for it, and another minute to have Lance arching beneath him, fisting the sheets above his head and cursing like a sailor on the docks of Mimas Prime. Every thrust and roll of Keith's hips is pure ecstasy, stabbing through to his core. Every thrust ramps up that breathless feeling of euphoria, until his body is taut with pleasure, arching beneath his alpha and presenting his neck for him. Keith's lips slide across his Adam's apple, nibbling at his skin, a promise and a tease until Lance is begging for it – begging for something. Anything. He can feel a rumble in the back of his throat, half sound, half vibration. It's not words, it's something else, pure pleasure, ecstasy and need rolled into a single sound.

"Fuck, that's it, sweetheart," Keith coos into Lance's neck. "C'mon, sing for me. Sing for your alpha." He rolls his hips, fucking Lance like a wave, like the ocean, like he belongs inside Lance, and it takes Lance a minute to realize that when Keith said he wanted to him to sing, it wasn't supposed to be a cheap euphemism for having an orgasm, he really did mean it. Because Lance – Lance didn't even know he could make a sound like this – almost like a purr, except it has an edge to it that spurs Keith on, it's a sound of encouragement, a calling to his alpha to fill him up, to breed him, to tip them both over the edge into frenzied, mutual pleasure. This is what was missing when they bonded the first time, possibly why there were side effects. Keith – or Keith's alpha – needs Lance to call to him, to welcome him home to make the bond work how it should. They need to be connected, joined.

Lance reaches down, grabs Keith's ass and grinds up, feeling how deep Keith is. The tip of his cock is nudging at Lance's secondary entrance and its driving Lance crazy with excitement, especially when Keith drags his tongue across the edge of Lance's scent gland on his neck, and Lance seizes hard, body jolting and eyes rolling back inside his head. Just when it seems he can't possibly take any more, Keith pulls out and flips Lance over, pulling him to his knees. He leans down, licks a wet stripe over Lance's asshole, and Lance shouts with a mixture of surprise and shock.

"Oh my fucking god, Keith, what – " He grunts, body confused as to whether he likes this or not, until he decides yes, he does, he likes this a lot. He drops to the bed, gasping for air, pliant beneath Keith's tongue pushing into his body. Keith lets out a moan, his enjoyment vibrating through their joined bodies and sending tingles down Lance's spine. This is a different kind of pleasure; one that makes him compliant and lax, body relaxing and opening further for his alpha. He can feel the way his nipples rub against the sheets, a counterpoint to Keith's fucking his ass with his tongue, sucking at his rim. He can feel the slow, insistent build to a second orgasm, and he wiggles on Keith's tongue, rocking backward to get more. More sensation, more of those noises Keith is making. "Keith," he manages breathlessly, "please, please, I need more, I need – "

He doesn't even finish the sentence before Keith is mounting him from behind, pushing his fat cock into Lance's hole where he belongs. Lance lets out a strangled sound of pleasure even as Keith leans over him, pressing his upper body into the mattress and holding him down. Lance should feel exposed like this – in fact, he does, but it's a turn on, holy shit. Like this he's presented for Keith, bent over, ass up, face down, taking whatever his alpha wants to give him. Lance whines in pleasure, fists gripping at the sheets as Keith fucks into him, thighs spreading wide. If he was in heat – _if_ he was in heat, Keith would and could be deep inside him, inside his secondary entrance, fucking him nice and hard. As it is, that'll have to wait until they're safe. For now though, Lance calls to his alpha, to Keith, calls to him through the pleasure with a song, a deep, rumbling purr, and Keith gives him exactly what he wants, nice and hard. And just when Lance doesn't think he can take much more, Keith adjusts his grip on the nape of Lance's neck, pulling him upright until Lance is bouncing on his cock, meeting Keith thrust for thrust, as deep as he can get. Keith supports him with an arm around his chest, the other on his hip, even as Lance's head falls back onto his shoulder like a fucked out ragdoll. 

And then Keith is nuzzling at his neck again, over his scent gland, sending shocking pleasure racing through him. Lance shifts, his purr changing tone to one of encouragement, a higher pitch. Keith answers with a deep rumble that Lance can feel, even as Keith slows his pace, his thrusts turning into a languid roll of his hips that push deep into Lance's body. Lance manages to rouse enough to tilt his head forward, showing off the bite that Keith had left previously. "Please, do it," he begs, fingers gripping at Keith's thigh. "Mark me, claim me again."

Lane honestly expected Keith to object, so when Keith nuzzles in with intent, lips parting against his scent gland, Lance's breath hitches, his body flushes with excited slick, hole clenching tight around Keith's cock. His glands ache, from his wrists to his inner thighs, pressed against Keith's, to the small of his back, a feedback loop that only winds higher and tighter with every moment that passes. "Please," he whispers, voice falling from words into that encouraging song, that purr that seems to get Keith's engine revving so fast. 

Keith makes an agreeable sound, and then sinks his teeth into the gland, seizing hard. Lance cries out, goes lax under Keith's hold, head rolling to the side. He's high; high on pleasure like it should be, his alpha a solid weight against his back, supporting him. He can feel the pleasure peak and Lance's spine arches even as Keith bites down harder, arms wrapped around his chest to keep him upright. Lance can feel Keith coming, his cock throbbing as he paints Lance's insides with his come, rolling his hips upward, grinding deep as Lance's body releases, milking him hard through his orgasm. 

This time, the high is just as intense but doesn't last nearly as long. They fall to the side, Keith cradling Lance as they go down sideways, tangled together into the soft blankets and pillows. Keith's licking at the bite mark, soothing the new bruising with his tongue by the feel of it, a rumbling noise of contentment deep at the back of his throat. His fingers slide over the come on Lance's stomach, pushing it into his skin, and Lance would never have thought he'd be getting used to something like that, but it's just a _Keith thing_, apparently.

Keith shifts, his hips rolling a little, but he seems disinclined to actually pull out of Lance, and Lance will let him have this for the moment. Lance is bone tired, the pleasurable feedback from the renewed bite still coursing through him, although the feeling remains one of pleasure and not an out of control rollercoaster high like it had been the first time.

"You okay?" Keith says finally, using his hand to push Lance's hair off his face. He stares down at Lance, concern written there. "I went hard on you there, got swept up in the moment."

Lance has about ten different things he could say right now, but none of them make it out of his mouth other than a satisfied grunt. He shifts enough to lean up and offer Keith a soft kiss that deepens when Keith parts his lips and lets Lance in. Lance loves kissing Keith; it's one of his favourite things.

When he pulls back reluctantly, Keith is grinning stupidly at him. "Told you I'd make you sing," he laughs.

Lance wants to be annoyed but truthfully he can't; Keith high on sex is maybe another one of his favourite things. "When you said you'd make me _sing_ I thought you meant some cheap euphemism for coming," Lance replies. He pouts for emphasis. "I had no idea it was a euphemism for like, purring or whatever that was."

"_Was_? You're still doing it when you aren't talking," Keith points out with another shit eating grin. "Although it's less of you trying to entice me in now, and more just a happy purr."

"Oh fuck you I don't purr," Lance objects, and then actually listens to himself for a moment. Yep, he's purring, dammit. "Fuck off," he adds.

Keith laughs again, pulling Lance closer with an arm until he's snuggled under his chin. Lance can feel their bond now, clear and bright, bubbling with happiness and contentment, the remains of their mutual pleasure. He moves his hand, stroking over Keith's arm, feeling Keith settle behind him, drowsy and satiated. Lance has never felt more content in his life, ever, and that thought follows him down into sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An enjoyable morning after, and then... the mission beneath the temple begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I updated like, two weeks after the last chapter. Go me!!

Lance wakes slowly somewhere around what he thinks must be late morning, judging by the way the sunlight leaves patterns across the floor. The door to their room is open halfway, and Lance can hear Keith’s familiar footsteps over the wooden planks of the porch, and then a scuffing noise as he sits down. Lance can see it clearly in his head; the way Keith’s hair will have fallen over his eyes, the generous curve of his plush lips and his pale skin. He’s probably leaning back against the wall, leg stretched in front of him, one knee pulled to his chest so he can rest an arm over it. Casual, but ready to react if he needs to. So very, very Keith. 

Lance scrubs his face into the pillow and shifts on his stomach, face heating at the thought of Keith keeping watch outside the room while he sleeps. It takes him a few moments to realize why his face is flushing; it’s that feeling of giddy embarrassment, the joy that comes with a certain type of ‘first’. Lance remembers feeling like this the morning after his first kiss, those first few precious moments of realization that the world has somehow changed while you slept; that your actions from the night before have forever adjusted your outlook on life. Today is one of those days, and as he shifts on the bed, he can feel that dull, pleasant ache in his lower back, just beneath the scent gland over his tail bone. The ache is addicting in a way; it reminds his body of all the things that Keith had done to and with him, the way they’d played with each other. Lance can see the last week – hell, the last few years – scrolling before him and, in a way, he thinks they were meant to be with each other. Both of them have been gently (and, not so gently) fanning the flames between them until it had been impossible to resist the siren call toward each other. 

Lance buries his face in the pillow again, smile stretched impossibly across his face, so much that it almost hurts. He curls his fists in the sheets<strike>,</strike> and allows himself a bit of a mental scream because oh my god, he and Keith Kogane had fucked like animals last night and Keith had made him come so hard that he’d actually _purred!!!_

If he’s going to be honest, he still feels a bit like a lazy house cat right now. He stretches, feeling that ache in his tailbone, evidence of where Keith was, how he’d bent Lance to his will so easily and with so much care and devotion. Still grinning like an idiot, Lance reaches out hesitantly with their renewed bond, surprised to find amusement at the other end, soft and indulging, like Keith had maybe expected Lance to react this way and he’s pleased by it. It's surprising to realize that, beneath that initial amusement, Keith had been a little unsure until he’d felt Lance’s giddy joy when he’d woken up. Lance can’t stand the idea of Keith thinking that what they’d done had been less than completely enjoyable, and he sends some of his happy excitement down their bond, feeling Keith respond with what feels like a glow; evidence that maybe, if Lance was watching him, he might be blushing.

That thought sends Lance off into another giddy spiral of _ohmygodohmygodIfuckedkeithahhhhhhhhh _until his back twinges, and he’s forced to turn onto his side, relaxing his muscles and breathing through the spasm. He pokes delicately at the bond again. “Heyyyy, Keith,” he calls out, voice still rough and sleepy-sounding. “Don’t suppose I can get another massage since you broke my back last night?”

There’s a pulse of confusion from the link before Keith realizes what Lance is thinking about, and then that little nudge of embarrassment followed by what Lance can only describe as alpha _pride_, the knowledge that he’s fucked his omega so well that he can’t walk properly. 

Huh. Just for that, Lance is gonna get his ass out of bed, because he’s damned if he’s going to let Keith think he was _that_ good. He sits sideways, lets the initial twinge settle into something deeper, further into his core, a faint echo of left over pleasure that sends his body humming in satisfaction for a moment. He stretches properly once he gets to the edge of the bed, stretching out his legs and his toes and reaching for the sky with his arms. Then he finds his pajama pants and slips them on.

When he’s finished brushing his teeth, he makes his way outside onto the porch. As he’d expected, Keith is sitting there, waiting for him. He’s picking at a plate of food, and there is a carafe of juice to the side, condensation already pooling on the outside of the clay vessel. He glances up at Lance, smiles softly, and gestures him down next to him where there's a pile of pillows on the faded wooden boards. That’s when it hits Lance; Keith has gotten a bunch of pillows from _somewhere_, definitely not their room, which means that he must have gone down to reception to ask for them, just so that he could create a mini nest for Lance to relax into. For a moment, Lance is overwhelmed, unsure what to feel or how to process it. It’s such an unexpected thing, a thing that would have required careful forethought on Keith's part.

Keith pats at the cushions, raising an eyebrow, and that’s more Keith-like, so it centers Lance a little. He slips onto the cushions, leaning back against the wall and then changing his mind when he feels a twinge again. It's gonna take a while to get used to that, he thinks, hoping that moving around more will make it fade away. He doesn't remember any of the other omegas he's talked with in the past mentioning it, so maybe it's just another _first_ to add to his playbook that will fade away shortly. 

He tucks his legs to the side, his shoulder brushing against Keith’s. He leans over a little more, and before he can let himself get overly flustered, gives Keith a careful, soft kiss on his cheek. Keith leans into the touch for a moment, his ridiculously long lashes fluttering against his skin, and then he leans back with a shit eating grin. “Wow, you must be feeling good,” he says with a smirk.

Lance scoffs, although his smile, and the bubbly contentment through the bond, is no doubt giving his real feelings away. “I feel thoroughly worked over,” he says, and then he winks. This time Keith does flush, and Lance thinks he might like to eat Keith for breakfast at this point. Maybe Keith will let Lance fuck him instead? He sends the mischievous feeling down the bond, and watches as Keith colors even further and then shifts, spreading his legs slightly, trying to hide the gesture with his hands, as if suddenly his pants are a little too snug. Lance can feel the faint heat of arousal through the bond, but Keith is trying to ignore it – for now. 

Keith clears his throat. “Here,” he says, passing Lance a wooden plate. “Eat something, then we should go over final plans before we get ready to leave.” Lance picks some bread and what might be a chunk of cheese from the platter, and Keith pours him some of the juice, passing him a beaker. The juice is refreshing, and slightly sweet, with a warm tang of something that reminds him of ginger. He immediately feels a little more awake and settles further into the plush cushions beneath him. 

“How are you feeling?” Keith asks. “Physically? I mean, I can get a general gist of how you feel through the bond, and I think that you’re okay. Are you?”

Keith is worried and that makes Lance melt even more. Ugh, who knew Keith, of all people, could be attentive like this? “I’m fine, really,” he says. “I feel good, but you know I do ‘cause you can sense it.” He taps the side of his head.

“Yeah, but I don’t trust the bond fully yet,” Keith explains with a hint of hesitation. “We’ve both gone so long – our entire lives really – without the ability to sense each other, and sometimes I do wonder how much information on this type of thing we’ve lost through disuse. Like, how clear can a link actually get? If we fully bonded – if you returned the bite and it crystalized fully, would we pick up more than just feelings? Would I be able to see what you send me?”

Lance pauses for a moment, distracted with the thrilling rush that overtakes him at the thought of being fully bonded to Keith. He forces himself to let that go for now, to think more on what Keith has actually asked. “Um, I… I don’t know?” he says after a moment. He pushes the bread around the plate, popping some of the cheese in his mouth and chewing contemplatively. “Really there’s only one way to find out, and doing that type of thing while we are on a mission probably isn’t a good idea.” Lance also skirts around the other, major point: that the bond is still considered completely taboo in modern society. Hell, just a week ago, Lance had been freaking out over the thought of allowing Keith to touch his _neck_, let alone bond him, mission or not. No, better he lets that whole thought go completely, before he gets hung up on it. He knows he tends to fixate on things, quite often to his own detriment, so yes, better to let this just fade, cut the thought off before his subconscious gets to it.

Keith hums, a sort of noncommittal agreement in the back of his throat. He plucks at some grapes, setting them on Lance’s plate, before he sneaks an arm around Lance’s waist, pulling him closer. Lance melts; he can’t help it. His alpha is taking care of him, looking after his welfare, making sure he has a nest and food, and – “Dude, are you actually going to continue feeding me?” Lance says with a shit eating grin. “Are you gonna peel those grapes for me or what?’

Keith opens his mouth and pops in the grape he was going to give to Lance. “Lance, go fuck yourself,” he says. His words are harsh, but the tone is fond.

“I’d prefer it if you’d do the honors. It’s more fun that way.”

Keith tuts. “Okay, finish your food, flyboy. We need to pack up, dispose of anything that might get left behind or be incriminating as evidence, and go over your map again. We also need to discuss our exit strategy in case either one of us is compromised or the mission goes south.”

Lance pops another grape into his mouth and chews contemplatively. He doesn’t want to sit here, at peace, with a man he could quite easily fall head over heels for (and has already, jeez) and ruin a perfect moment of companionship and calm by thinking that either of them, or both, might not make it out alive by the end of today. That both of them could be bloodied bodies on the floor, eyes lifeless and bond broken. 

“Hey,” Keith prompts, putting a soothing hand on Lance’s thigh. “Not sure what you’re thinking but I don’t like the feel of it. We’re both gonna get through this unharmed, okay? We work well together. There's nobody I'd rather have at my back. We are a good team.”

Lance swallows, and nods. “We are a good team,” he echoes with a warm smile.

“We are, and we are not gonna fuck this up. We can’t afford to fail. We _won’t_ fail.” He leans in and tilts his head to the side, lips soft as they press against Lance’s. Lance parts his lips and returns the kiss, delicate and precious. He wants to wait here, in this moment, under the blossom, with his alpha at his side, to ignore the future until it comes looking for him and he has no choice but to walk toward it.

* * *

Lance tightens the strap around the leg of his cargo pants. He watches Keith as he finishes packing his duffel, giving the room a final look over for anything which they may have left behind. To Lance, the room already feels empty; a part of his past. This room has meant so much to him; it's where he's learnt more about his alpha - about _Keith_ \- it's where they've learnt to live with the bond and each other, to coexist as one unit, just like the bond was intended in a natural setting. Lance feels that their relationship has deepened considerably; he feels like he understands Keith a lot more than before.

But now... none of that is visible in the empty room. There's the blanket from this morning strewn over the end of the bed, a throw pillow resting on the floor where it's fallen off the chest that had held their clothes. The flask that had held Lance's juice this morning still has condensation beading on the outside, even though it's empty. This room is already part of the past: they've moved on, even though they still inhabit it.

Keith picks up the duffel and turns around, searching for the folded cloak that Lance had worn on the way back from the temple two days ago. He passes it to Lance, who takes it from him. "Okay, so you are gonna wear that to the temple then?" he confirms.

Lance nods. "Yep, gonna refresh all that omega goodness for you so you can sneak in with me," he says with a grin. Keith makes a face, and Lance can't help but laugh. "Don't worry your pretty face, samurai. I got this." He makes a kiss and blows it toward Keith, who rolls his eyes.

"Okay, let's focus for the moment," Keith says. "You can flirt afterward."

Lance nods, putting the cloak next to his knife, which he's cleaned and sharpened in case he needs to use it. "I'm listening." Despite the flirting, Lance knows they are moments away from mission start. Lance loves flirting with Keith, but he's knows he's really only doing it right now as a distraction from pre-mission nerves. Because<strike>,</strike> they'd both be kidding themselves if they didn't acknowledge that, if you want to stay alive, nerves and paranoia are an asset in the right type of situation.

"I'm going to the Blade hideout to drop off this stuff, and then I’ll take a separate route back and meet you in the square by the temple. We'll swap out and you'll pass me the cloak, and hopefully nobody will look twice at us," Keith reiterates, counting points off on his fingers. "Once we are inside it's a go, unless you call an abort."

Lance nods. They'd decided Lance should be the one to call the mission off if necessary, as he's had prior experience with the temple environment and will be able to tell pretty quickly if anything seems off or it looks like they're expected.

"Final decision on what happens if the mission goes to shit?" Lance asks seriously. It's not a question he likes asking, but it's necessary. Keith is the mission leader; he has the final say. "Do we run, or stand our ground?"

Keith bites his lip. He's a Blade first, a paladin second – for the time being. The paladin would stand at all costs and protect the team; the Blade would run, hoping at least one of them makes it out. He steps forward, into Lance's space, and reaches out, cupping his hand around Lance's cheek gently. He leans in until their foreheads are touching, breathing each other's air. "Lance…" Keith says softly, his tone apologetic. "If we are correct in what we've found, this is bigger than both of us. One –" he pauses, taking a shuddering breath. "One of us has to make it out, yes?"

Lance lets out a shivery breath that echoes Keith's. "Understood," he whispers. He sends calming energy down through the bond toward Keith, smoothing over the rough edges the conversation has created and reassuring him. 

Because Lance gets it; he knows what's at stake, what the odds are. 

Despite that, he's gonna believe in them and their bond, and they're both gonna make it out alive.

* * *

Lance waits until about an hour after Keith leaves for the Blade shack hidden in the forest, and then he starts to gather his things. He's basically taking just the clothes he's wearing for the mission, and the folded cloak for Keith to wear when they meet back up. Keith slipped out earlier with a knapsack full of the things they are loath to part with; Lance's ear cuff, some of the clothes they've bought during their stay, and a small assortment of things that are definitely out of place for the level of technology on Falos - the medical kit especially. He gives the room a final once over visually and, gathering up the cloak, steps out onto the porch for the last time and closes the door behind him.

Lance lets the strange yearning he feels slip from his shoulders; he puts away Keith and Lance, alpha and omega, and takes on a more military mindset, lets the mission and their joint goals surface and take precedence. 

The streets are almost empty, even though it's late afternoon. Most inhabitants of the city are either sleeping off last night's wine and debauchery, or are still indulging in it. That's what a fertility festival is for, after all. Lance wishes they were doing the same thing; tangled in the bed sheets, drinking the thick wine that Falos produces, taking hours to explore Keith's body and to figure out what turns him on. Lance really, really, wants to fuck Keith. That's definitely not the norm in a typical alpha/omega relationship for sure, but they come from Earth, where dynamics are truly secondary to gender. But in reality, it's none of those things. Keith Kogane has a fabulous arse and Lance has been lusting over it for years, ever since he realized he kinda liked boys as much as he did girls. He wants to tap Keith's ass so badly; it's pretty much a cornerstone of his bucket list at this point. 

He can feel Keith through the bond – grinning smugly as he pushes amusement at Lance. If Keith's relaxed enough to sort through Lance's feelings over the bond that means Keith hasn't run into trouble on his initial foray to the shack. Everything so far has gone as they planned.

Lance pulls the cloak up over his head and slips down another side alley, skirting close to the rising walls of the cliff face that flank the east section of the town. In the distance he can see the lake as the ground drops toward it, and next to it, the strange semicircular declivity carved into the rock face that makes up the seating portion of the amphitheatre. The rest of it, the stone walls rising imposingly, block his view of the south of the town, but he can see the temple rising on its hill. He turns toward the temple, moving away from the parks that surround the lake. He's startled by a large flock of tiny birds, feathers a vibrant blue. They move across the lake, swirling in a complicated pattern that shifts and changes as they fly. They almost vanish as Lance looks upward; the blue sky gives way to that weird purple color shift he noticed before, and the birds blend into it, flickering in and out of sight like an awe-inspiring magic trick. 

Lance is almost loathe to leave this planet. Sure, it's strange and different and weird, but bizarrely enough he thinks he could settle here, if he had to. Falos' technology is almost non-existent, much more mechanical than he's used to, but many alien races mingle here peacefully, and the nightlife is just satisfying enough that Lance would stay interested and not stagnate. He wonders briefly what his family would think of this place; what they would think of him being here in space, on another world, and partners with Keith. Hell, not just with Keith, with his pack. 

Lance has become so used to having his pack around him, supportive, calming, and loved. Shiro, their pack Alpha, who can still get frustrated when the team dynamics go to shit, who turns into a space dad at the slightest provocation and would protect his Pack fiercely and without hesitation. Pidge, who's a genius at messing with technology, and surprisingly good with nature, having a natural empathy for all things and how they work together. Hunk; who's brilliant with machinery and engineering stuffs that Lance can't even begin to understand. 

Hunk and Pidge are like Lance's younger and older siblings respectively, but as betas, their roles in the pack are significant. They are the glue that binds the pack together, that balances out the inequality caused by Lance being the only omega. That in itself is unusual, but then fate had pulled them together organically rather than their group having consciously chosen to form a pack based on temperament and personality. Lance thinks it makes them stronger; they all have to work at their bonds to keep them healthy, rather than letting them stagnate. It's just another way that Team Awesome proves that, in the end, it doesn't matter what you are; it's how you come together to form a team that counts.

He starts to climb the gentle slope toward the temple. Today, he's not aiming to climb the lengthy flight of steps to the summit of the hill and its main courtyard. He's arranged to meet Keith near the rear of the temple, and together they will try and sneak in the way Lance had gotten out last time – through the door in the basement. This has its advantages, because they won't have to worry too much about Keith's scent. Even wearing Lance's cloak, exposure to so many omega in such a small space is too risky if they are discovered, and secondly, it would be breaking a sacred oath within the temple precincts; something Lance really hadn't wanted to do unless his hand had been forced by circumstances.

He waits patiently beneath one of the blossom trees, knowing that Keith will have to navigate through the coastal gate to get back into the town. When Lance spots him he grins; Keith has changed clothes, has somehow found a pair of pants that are tighter, and no doubt, in Keith's mind, will make potential combat easier. Lance raises an eyebrow as he approaches. He slips off the cloak, settling it around Keith's shoulders in a matter of seconds. Keith fiddles with the fabric until he's happy, eyes going a little hazy as he breathes in Lance's scent.

"Okay?" Lance asks with a smirk.

Keith clears his throat and focuses back on Lance, reaching out a hand to trace along his jaw, the gesture soft and careful. "Hmm," he agrees, "Perfectly." 

Lance blushes; he can't help it. Still, they can't stand around for too much longer. "Shall we get this thing done?" he asks.

Keith nods. There's so much Lance wants to say, but<strike>,</strike> the fact of the matter is that they've already said all those things back in their room, both verbally and with their bodies. Prolonging the start of the mission is no longer an option; the codes will be active in a matter of hours, and they need to obtain them as soon as possible. 

Keith brushes his thumb slowly along Lance's lower lip; a caress and a promise, and then Keith drops his hand and pulls the cloak tighter around his frame. His body language changes subtly; gone is the languid, soft lover and, in his place, is someone equally as enthralling to Lance –his mission leader, former Red Paladin and sometime leader of Voltron, member of the Blade of Marmora. 

"Let's move out," Keith says, and Lance nods. 

Let the games begin.

* * *

The area surrounding the temple is quiet; it's possible to hear the sounds of birds chirping in the branches of the trees nearby. They keep to the edges of the paths, walking side by side, heads close together like two familiar friends would. Those that notice them only see and scent two omega, proving that Lance's hunch was correct. The rear yard at the base of the temple hill is equally deserted. It's now early evening, and any deliveries scheduled would have been completed long ago. 

As a pair, they move toward the door; there's no need to discuss the plan since they've gone over it so many times. The small door set into the larger cargo doors is slightly ajar, and Lance stops at the threshold, looking down. There at his feet lays a sprig of purple blossom, and Lance smiles, remembering his previous visit to the temple. He picks the sprig up, smelling the blossom while Keith watches him with a puzzled, curious look. 

"I'd give you this as a gift, but I don't think you've got anywhere to put it," Lance says, grinning. "Gonna leave it here for safekeeping though." He sets it to the side, away from the pathway, so it won't get trampled, and then he slips through the open door into the undercroft of the temple.

"Wow," Keith whispers, slipping in next to Lance and pausing, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light inside. "I didn't realize how big this place was."

Lance nods. "C'mon, we're headed for the back." Lance moves quickly, stealthily, through the aisles of stacked goods, heading toward the rear wall where he knows the hidden gateway is. He can feel Keith close on his heels, can feel him through the bond, a constant, focused presence. It's soothing to Lance, and he, in turn, relaxes a little. He finds the spot where the gateway should be; notices that there's a bunch of wooden crates stacked directly over it. He doesn't want to think about what would happen if someone tried to come through the gateway from the other side while its blocked, and honestly, he's gonna be happy just remaining curious about that. Sort of treat that thought like a poisonous snake and just not engage with it. "Help me move this," he says to Keith.

Keith nods, happy to stay on mission and do what needs to be done. He shrugs off the cloak, folding it into a ball and putting it to the side. Then they start pushing the boxes out of the way. Whatever is in them is heavy but, with a bit of a struggle, they get them moved about three feet to the right. They both stare down at the dirt floor that's been exposed.

"That's… a lot of Galra blood," Keith remarks casually with a raised eyebrow.

Lance offers Keith a brittle smile. "Yes," he says. "It was." 

Keith stares at Lance for a moment, clearly weighing up the information and adjusting his image of what Lance must have gone through in his head. Then he nods tersely, and Lance can feel a sense of relief and pride trickle down it. 

Keith stows the cloak behind the crates they moved<strike>,</strike> so that it's out of sight until they need it on their return. 

"Okay, so I hope you like dancing," Lance says, taking Keith's hand. He tugs Keith closer, until they are pressed against each other, Keith's arms around Lance's waist. "Follow my lead, mullet," Lance says, and he twists them to the side. Keith follows his steps like he’s been ballroom dancing all his life, and the gateway lights up beneath them. Keith's eyes widen and he looks down, making note of the alchemic symbols burning through the dirt, locking them in place before the transport.

"What the fu-" he begins, and then everything blanks out.

There's a few heart stopping seconds where there simply is nothing – complete sensory deprivation – and then the world blinks back in in a punch of color.

When they step from the gateway, the place looks almost the same as when Lance had left. Keith untangles himself from Lance, but doesn't comment on the rough ride, just pulls a nondescript blade from his belt and immediately looks for cover. Lance does the same, both of them moving into mirroring positions like they always do, until they have both directions covered. 

Lance pulls his knife from his boot and twirls it, getting a feel for the weight of the blade once more. Keith nods at him from across the corridor, and Lance jerks his head to the right, raising an eyebrow. Keith's face is blank, remarkably stoic like he always is on missions, but Lance is surprised to find that, beneath the mask, through the bond, Keith is amused at Lance's antics. Then he settles, becoming more businesslike to match his expression. 

They move along the corridors swiftly, each taking point when necessary, one dropping back a little to cover the other. The hallways are empty like before, the cement and stone walls uniform, every corridor the same – until they reach the place that Lance had found before, where the water leaks down the wall. Lance raises an eyebrow, because last time he’d passed this way, it had only been a small trickle of water leaking through the bricks to pool on the floor. Now, it's a steady stream, breaking through from near the ceiling and in numerous other places, and it’s making the wall behind it start to buckle outward. The floor is an inch deep in running water, spreading into a larger pool along the left hand corridor where the ground must fall away gradually.

"I thought you said this area was 'damp'?" Keith asks.

"It _was_. I guess it's getting worse. Come on, we've got no time for this," Lance hisses, gesturing to the right. "We need to get to our destination before anyone gets curious."

They take a few more twists and turns, and then, suddenly, they are in the more uniform part of the base, corridors evenly spaced with the faint purple glow they are familiar with. Lance pauses at an intersection, melting against the wall between two pillars. "You got the map?" he asks.

Keith nods. "Gotten yourself lost?" He rummages in the outside thigh pocket of his pants, pulling out a folded piece of paper and passing it over. There's another tucked behind it but Lance only needs his map; not the other one Keith has also bought from the missing Blade member.

Lance snorts. "Even I can't remember the entirety of a Galra base, babe."

Keith sticks his head out carefully and looks around, leaning back in to cover once he's sure they haven't been spotted. "Um, I don't think this is a base per se. I think this might be a downed ship."

Lance lets his skepticism float down their bond as he fiddles with the map, trying to figure out where, exactly, they might be, based on his hurried scribbles from his previous visit. "Okay, so I think we wanna head across that hallway and then make another right. That should put us near the corridor I spotted the druid in on my first infiltration."

Keith nods. "Okay, let's go." 

The lack of security in this facility still freaks Lance out. It's clear this was once a bustling base, full of people. He's seen the offices to prove it. What the hell happened here? Keith pauses in front of him, holding out his arm gently, until Lance bumps into it because he's not being attentive. He sends an apology through the bond, receiving what he can only describe as a warm caress in return, along with fondness. 

"Does this look familiar?" Keith whispers over his shoulder. Lance leans forward, craning his neck to see down the corridor. He nods, gesturing to the right, and together they continue along. 

Out of nowhere, they hear the steady rhythm of footsteps and, as a unit, they duck into one of the alcoves. After a few moments, Lance leans forward enough to spot two sentries, heading along the corridor that runs perpendicular to theirs. Stupidly, it makes him relax, because there should be fucking sentries patrolling and doing Galra Empire stuff, thank you very much. None of this 'deserted and creepy millennial old base' bullshit they've been encountering. Once they've passed by, Lance gestures over his shoulder and they resume their journey, following the sentries at enough of a distance to stay out of sight. When Lance deems they are close enough, he pulls Keith into another alcove.

"I'm starting to think you like pulling me into alcoves," Keith sasses. "If you wanna neck you just had to say."

Lance thinks about replying, but instead just grabs Keith by the front of his tanktop and pulls him into a kiss, slipping in some tongue for good measure. Keith makes a little noise that could be a grunt but might be a moan, and then Lance releases him. "Was that what you were looking for, mullet?" he says with a wink.

Keith clears his throat. "Okay," he says, blinking. "Okay, so – mission?"

Lance nods encouragingly. "Mission," he repeats, waiting for Keith's brain to get back with the program. From here, they can see the patrolling sentries pass by the door to the strongbox. Nothing has changed since Lance was last here: there's the giant, circular door with two sentries parked outside it, and the actual strongbox itself, the size of a small room. Their objective will be inside that box. "Any idea how we get around the sentries at the door?" 

Keith smirks, reaching back in his pocket and pulling out a small metal disk, no bigger than the palm of his hand. "I found this in the shack when I went back earlier," he explains. "Normal Blade mission accoutrements; our missing Blade would have had to have had them, so I dug around until I located where he'd hidden them. It's a sort of anti-sentry EMP device and – "

There's a sudden rumbling under their feet and it feels to Lance like the ground undulates a little as the lights flicker. He sees Keith move, gesture with his hand around the corner in a throwing movement, but the strobe-like effects of the power outage muddle his brain and his vision momentarily. He's not sure if a bomb went off, if something happened on the surface above them, or what, but the animal hindbrain belonging to Lance's inner caveman tells him to get the _fuck_ out of the base now before he dies horribly. "What the fuck was that?" Lance says, glancing up at the ceiling, as if he's expecting it to rain down on their heads in large chunks.

"Don't know, don't care," Keith mutters. "Let's go."

"What?" Lance screeches. It's not his finest moment, hell no. But Keith is gone already, pulling his typical _Blade-on-mission_ bullshit and leaving the rest of the team (I.e. Lance) to get with the program or get left behind. Lance curses and bolts after Keith, knife held in his hand. He wonders for a brief moment if Keith fully intends to jump one of the sentries and knife it in the face slot, and if he expects Lance to do something similar to the other one.

When he catches up to Keith, he's standing in front of the door, between the sentries, and at his feet is the EMP device. Both sentries are down; unresponsive and dead. The beauty of it is that, if anyone glances at a security feed, they won't see anything abnormal, because the EMP isn't a bomb; it hasn't destroyed them. They are simply… inert until someone manually reboots them. It's a favourite way to take out sentries on Blade stealth missions, and Lance hopes they'll be long gone with the codes before anyone figures there's anything wrong. 

Keith reaches for Lance hurriedly; he knows what to do because they've gone over this mission again and again. As soon as Lance is inside the circle of his arms, he reaches out his hand to the hidden panel and it lights up, recognizing his Galra DNA. "Yes," Lance hisses in triumph, because he’d hoped this was the case; he’d hoped the catalyst to open the gateway was Galra DNA rather than the fact that the last person he'd seen do it had been a druid. 

The gateway glows purple in the flickering, anemic light of the corridor, and they get pulled into the void together.

* * *

"Okay, so not quite what I was expecting," Lance says acerbically, climbing to his feet and brushing off his pants and knees. His _bruised_ knees. Because he wasn't expecting another one of those earth shakers to knock them both off their feet when they rematerialized inside the vault. Keith is already on his feet, in a half crouch, looking around as if he's waiting to get knifed in the back by a hidden gang of druids. Although, that scenario hadn't occurred to Lance and it probably should have. He shouldn't have assumed the vault might be empty; good job Keith hadn't and was prepared for the both of them. 

All in all, it's a bit of an anticlimax. Lance's eyes take a few moment to adjust; Keith appears to be able to see at least a little bit better in the dark, but that might be a Galra thing, he supposes. Instead of the room he’d expected, with maybe a console containing the codes, they are staring at more of a foyer, with a staircase in the middle. It winds down, wide but circular, in an anti-clockwise direction, lit occasionally by flickering lights set into the staircase treads. "Of course it would be too much to expect the damn codes would be in the strongbox," Lance snips.

Keith takes a moment, one hand resting on his hip. "I think this whole thing is still the strongbox," he says. "What you saw from the outside when you did recon – the small reinforced room – was just the entrance. The rest of it appears to be on the floor below, or wherever those stairs go." He pulls his knife out and twirls it absently in his left hand, clearly thinking. "We've committed this far, and we can't back out no matter what's down there."

"So the punchline is hordes of Galra sentries just below us, lying in wait?" Lance says with a raised eyebrow.

Keith smirks. "Hope so. Need to burn off some of this nervous energy. You ready?"

"Lead on." Lance holds out a hand, gesturing toward the staircase in a grand, sweeping bow.

With a grin, Keith starts down the staircase, taking his time. Lance watches the rear in case anyone is going to come up behind them from the top of the stairs. It's clear this isn't a well-used area of the base; in fact, none of the base seems well-used at all. Maybe there's just a minor Galra presence and Lance is simply making too big a deal out of it. The Galra have cohabitated here with the population for thousands of years; maybe they just don't need a big military presence.

When they reach the bottom of the stairs, they automatically fan out in their normal infiltration pattern, staying close, but watching each other's back. Down here, the corridor is wide, the ceiling soaring up, almost reminiscent of the Castle of Lions, but it's bathed in flickering, weak purple lighting. 

"You also thinking this looks a bit Altean, right?" Keith says, glancing back at Lance for confirmation. 

"Yup," Lance replies. "Glad it's not just me. It's got that baseline goth aesthetic though, so I don't think this a converted Altean base."

"No, but I think this is based on Altean architecture." Keith ducks around a pillar and stares ahead, waving Lance to the side into an alcove. "There's a big kick ass door ahead; I'm gonna say that's our goal," he says.

Lance nods, ducking his head out quickly, wishing he had his bayard so he could use the sight from his sniper rifle to get a closer look. "Can't see a numerical panel, so we're gonna assume this is another door that requires a hand print?"

"I hate taking shit on faith," Keith bites out. "Okay, if the handprint doesn't work we'll need to figure out another way in. Let's go."

They approach the door quickly, quietly, and Keith immediately rests his hand on the panel to the left side. There's a quirky beep from the panel and then it begins a scan. It takes precious seconds to work; the tech clearly quite old. 

And then the doors slide open with a hiss.

Lance sighs heavily. "Okay, why is today being like this?" he whines, hands on his hips. He takes a few steps inside the room, pausing to look down over the edge of what appears to be drop into nothing, just darkness. Ahead, in what appears to be the middle of a vast circular room, is a platform with what looks like a console in the center of it.

Keith comes up next to Lance and whistles. "Damn, I was right; this is a ship. This looks like the drive room on the castleship, doesn't it?"

Lance can't help but nod. He's a bit lost for words (although he'll deny that) because _holy shit_. "This room is massive," he notes. "Do you think they cannibalized this room in order to use it to store the codes?"

"Looks that way, although we'll never know for sure. Also, it looks like there's not a bridge across, unlike the castleship."

At that moment, the doors swish shut behind them, leaving them standing on the edge of the vast drop into nothing. Lance whirls around. "Seriously?" he says, raising an eyebrow. "Wait – is this ship haunted too? Because I don't think I can deal with a malevolent Galra ghost ship on top of everything else."

Keith laughs, soft and fondly, and that feeling of warmth travels down the bond to Lance, centering him. "Calm down, sharpshooter. We need to think this through."

"You're right." Lance takes a meagre step backward, feeling his back press against the doors. He pushes the small niggle of _wrong_ down, deep inside, and focuses only on what they can see; what is real. "Okay, so this room is clearly designed only to allow the druids access. Good security feature; only being able to reach the middle by apparating or whatever they're calling it these days."

"Appa-what?" Keith frowns.

"Nope, not Appa. _Appa_ is a giant sky bison. I said a_pparate_ as in moving instantaneously from once place to another."

Keith thinks for a moment. "Oh, this is one of yours and Hunk's pop references, yes?"

Lance smacks himself in the face with his palm. "It's pop culture – you know what, never mind, cowboy. We need to get to the middle where the console is."

Keith glances around, then up, and then back to the console. "I think I have an idea." He's smiling now, which makes Lance _very_ suspicious. A smiling, happy Keith on a dangerous mission is never a good sign. He starts fiddling with his belt, which Lance notices is his usual Blade fanny-pack with all the little compartments. And then he's unravelling what looks like a long piece of weighted string with claws at the end. 

"What are you gonna do with the space string?" Lance asks. He watches Keith heft it for moment, considering the distance, and then he tosses it upward and out. Because it's space string, it keeps its flight path and momentum, snagging on something above them in the darkness – he can't see what it is because his vision isn't as good as Keith's. 

Keith gives it a tug, satisfied the rope is anchored. "We're gonna swing across," Keith explains.

"We're gonna do what now?!"

Keith swoops in and wraps an arm around Lance's waist, at the same time he winds the rope firmly around his other wrist and forearm. "Hold on tight," he says.

Lance feels Keith's whole body tense for the jump, and Lance flings his arms around Keith's neck, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. Keith looks surprised. "For luck," Lance says as Keith steps off the edge of the platform.

Lance tries to hold in a shout of terror, because they drop at first, until Keith figures out the tension on the space rope and uses the momentum to swing them over the chasm to the console platform. The entire time, Keith keeps Lance pressed close, his grip firm.

The landing isn't, by any stretch of the imagination, their finest; Keith gets his foot on the edge of the platform and Lance can tell they're gonna swing backward, so he throws himself forward, dragging Keith with him. They land in an untidy heap, Keith half laying over Lance, legs tangled together. 

"Wow, I really don't wanna do that again," Lance says. "Never thought I'd say this but that was a little too exciting for me. I hope they have an alternate way off this pad."

Keith climbs to his feet, holding out a hand for Lance and pulling him up too. Suddenly, they both go quiet, because this is the moment. The payoff. If they are right – if they are right, this is momentous. Together they approach the console in the middle of the platform. It's a simple raised workstation, but it has a panel, and once again, Keith places his hand over it. It glows with soft purple light, and Lance lets out a snort.

"What?" Keith says, watching as a panel slides open in the top of the console, exposing two separate compartments, side by side.

"Just – " Lance sighs. "I love how the Galra are so sure that another Galra would never betray them. I cannot believe their entire ship- and base-wide security- is founded on that fact. It's almost naive in its simplicity."

Keith doesn't respond; together they lean over the opened console. Inside each compartment is a square piece of paper with writing on it in Galra. 

"Do you know what it says?" Lance asks.

"Not really," Keith responds. "It's a date, that's all. I can recognize numbers, I'm still learning their alphabet and characters."

"Well, I guess no time like the present?"

Together, they both reach for a paper; Lance the right, Keith the left. There's no traps, no alarms. Lance cradles the paper in the palm of his hand, puzzled at first, because the paper feels warm. Dammit, he's really hoping it isn't gonna like, explode in his face or burst into flames, because they've come this far and he's gonna be super pissed if they have nothing to show for all this at the end of the mission. They're so close that he can almost taste Hunk's special blue mission reward food goo.

Characters start to materialize under the date already on the paper, slow, then with increasing speed. "Ah, Keith, you getting the weird appearing writing there, buddy?"

"Yeah, uh – "

For a split second, the words and lines of writing flash a sickly green, and then vanish from the paper. At first, it's like a painful itch in Lance's hand and he jerks it back, dropping the paper and stepping backward. 

The damage is done though; the code has transferred to Lance's palm, and is bleeding away, beneath his skin. The itch becomes pain, causing Lance to let out a whine and grab at his wrist. His breathing is starting to accelerate; it's harder to draw in oxygen. Then the pain flares, and he shouts, dropping to his knees with another jarring crash that he can feel all the way through his body. 

"Lance!" 

Keith is next to him, Lance registers. How long has he been there? Lance is sweating, teeth gritted as his whole body burns from the inside out, pain unlike anything he's felt before. It feels like the code is moving, eating into his body and settling deep inside like a disease.

"Lance!" Keith shouts. 

For a split second, Lance has incredible, pain-free clarity. He stares into Keith's wide, terrified gaze, his pupils blown, tears rolling down his cheeks and he laughs, reaching up to touch Keith gently on the cheek with a shaking hand. "Guess that security system was better than we thought, eh?" he whispers.

"Lance?" Keith frowns. "What do you mean?"

Lance hiccups, and then the pain is back in full force, lighting up his body with incandescent pain. As the pain becomes brighter and hotter, Lance sinks into the blessed darkness beneath the waves.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance has... a bad day. It gets worse.

When Lance regains consciousness, the world is tilted strangely; the floor’s at an odd angle, the ceiling not where it should be. He can't make heads or tails of what he's seeing, but he can scent Keith, his familiar musk, and he can recognize the solid wall of muscle beneath his cheekbone. 

Keith is holding him.

Cradling him in his arms. 

…And Lance is, apparently, (once again) unconscious for most of the ordeal.

_Fucking figures_, he thinks. Now Keith has another reason to bring this up in passing, a new story to embellish. But, this time, Lance is going to look forward to it, look forward to needling at Keith just to get a rise out of him – providing they make it out of here and live to tell the tale.

Lance raises his head and blinks slowly, assessing the pain. He's glad that, for the moment, it's not racing through his body, eating him alive, cell by cell. Keith shifts and reaches out, brushing Lance's hair away from his forehead. 

"Lance, you okay?" Keith asks, ducking his head down so he can get a clear look at Lance's face. Lance watches him, the pain bubbling away in the background, a fizz of _wrong_ sliding through his veins and under his skin.

Lance swallows, throat dry, and looks around. His vision is still a bit fuzzy. He grips at Keith's hand, an anchor point. "What –" he lets out a shuddering breath again, "What just happened?"

Keith shifts a little. "Dunno exactly. We went for the codes, and they seemed to transfer off the paper when we touched them. We are both carrying separate codes for the Cradle, I think. Or maybe we're both carrying a separate part of a single code, I'm not sure."

Lance nods. He wraps a hand around his mid-section, because the bubbling pain is starting to cycle up again, the burning becoming a tearing he can feel deep inside, a pulsing. If he could concentrate enough, he's almost sure he can feel the alchemic poison from the code racing through his veins. He gasps for air. Keith fades into the background as the pain cycles, and Lance grits his teeth, throws his head back and tries to force back the scream that he can feel wants to tear its way out of his throat. He can't make any noise though; if he does, the enemy will find them. They'll know they are here and he'll put Keith in danger.

So Lance does the next best thing; grits his teeth, squeezes Keith's hand, and rides the wave of code that cycles through him, cresting the dizzying pain, and sliding down the other side of it. Keith watches him, waits it out, murmuring soothing words or sounds that Lance can focus on but can't quite make out. Once the last of the pain loosens its teeth, Lance leans his head against Keith's shoulder and tries to gather the will to move. He feels like he's been wrung out, his body weak.

"Wait it out, Lance," Keith says, voice soft and soothing. He runs this thumb across Lance's wrist, the motion comforting.

"We don't have time," Lance points out, breathing weakly. He can feel sweat dripping down his forehead, prickling at the base of his spine. "We can't abort the mission now we have the codes. You and I both know we need to get off planet as quickly as we can."

Keith bites his lip. He's weighing things up, Lance thinks. Making a decision. Well, Lance can help with that. "You need to get out of the base, Keith. The poison, or whatever it is, doesn't seem to affect you. You should go."

"I'm not leaving you." Keith is frowning, face shuttered and worried. 

Lance lets out a soft laugh. "You have no choice, samurai. The evil Galra alchemic code doesn't seem to interfere with your body or your DNA."

Keith slides his hand under Lance's back, gripping around his waist and hauling him to his feet. He arranges Lance's arm over his shoulder so he's carrying a good part of Lance's weight for him and starts walking toward the edge of the platform, slow and steady. "We don't know that," Keith denies. "It could be anything; doesn't have to be my DNA that's protecting me."

Lance can feel his body shaking, but he's able to take more of his own weight now that the pain has passed for the moment, and he walks toward the edge of the platform. He eyes the chasm that divides the platform from the door and the corridor beyond. The drop from the edge is terrifying. Lance isn't sure how far down it goes, or what's at the bottom, but safe to say that, if this is the old ship's drive room, it's probably filled with rusty, pointy shit and certain death. If they can make it to the door though, they'll be –

Wait.

The door is open. 

Lance pauses for a moment. He _remembers_ it shutting behind them, stranding them on the edge of the precipice. He turns back to Keith, who's behind him. "Keith, was the door – "

There's a sudden punch of ozone in the air, a crackle of violet electricity that appears directly between them, right in front of Keith like a malevolent hooded shadow. Keith looks surprised for a moment, before the masked figure reaches out a hand, gesturing violently. Keith makes a pained noise; he seems to fold inward, hand clutching at his midsection. His eyes connect briefly with Lance's before there's a sound like thunder, like something breaking the sound barrier, and Keith's flies backward, the druid's magic pushing him right over the edge of the platform, over the precipice. 

"KEITH!!" Lance screams. He ignores the pain ravaging his body and begins to run toward Keith, toward the druid, who doesn't seem to notice Lance or care that he is there. His hand out, the druid keeps Keith suspended in the air, hanging over the drop. Keith hangs there for precious seconds, arms out at his sides, hair crackling like a halo around his head. Lance can see Keith struggling to break free of the druid's hold.

And then the druid releases the energy or whatever it is, and Keith hangs for a final second before plunging out of sight into the chasm, falling silently into the depths.

Lance shouts something; he's not sure what it is. He changes his trajectory; slides toward the hooded figure of the druid, delivering a punch to the side of its face. He doesn't hold back; Lance isn't thinking clearly and his fist connects with the druid's mask, the sound echoing like a crack of broken ice. While it does stagger the figure backward, it also bruises and cuts Lance's knuckles. "You motherfucking son of a bitch!" Lance shouts, hauling back for another blow.

A bolt of violet light crackles toward Lance, punching into his shoulder. At this point, Lance is ravaged with so much leftover pain from the code that this new addition barely registers for him. Keith is gone – his mate is gone – and the mental horror and pain supersedes anything Lance's body and the code could throw at him. This druid's single act has both destroyed Lance's reason and at the same time provoked him into action; a strange dichotomy that makes Lance a very, very dangerous individual. 

Because he only really needs to live long enough to get revenge.

The druid lets out a hollow, deep laugh that echoes around the chamber. "Was he your lover, Falosian? Your alpha? Such a shame then that you won't be seeing each other again."

Lance growls at the druid. He's honest to god never heard himself make a noise like that before, but it's a warning, nonetheless. His shoulder throbs, and he twists it a little, checking for range of movement. Happy with the fact his shoulder is usable, Lance rushes forward, dancing to the left to slip past the druid, to get behind it. He's reaching for the blade in his boot when another arc of violet lightning burns from the druid's fingertips, brushing his side and his hip. The snap of pain galvanizes him into action, and Lance pulls his knife, the blade flashing as Lance dodges more of the druid's magic.

He grits his teeth, breathing through the pain, but at the last second, when Lance can almost brush his fingertips over the druid's robes he's that close, the bastard vanishes in another crackle of magical energy, reappearing on the other side of the console. The druid glances to the sideand, comically, almost does a double take when he sees the console is opened and empty. 

It's then, only then, that Lance feels a familiar brush against the walls he's put up, the bond flaring to life, a flicker of hope and warmth and _Keith_. Lance feels like he's been sucker punched for a moment, facing off against an unnatural, twisted magical being, while holding the precious knowledge, the joy, that Keith is alive, that the fall hasn't killed him. Lance bends down for a moment, buying time and making it look like he's struggling with the pain. Okay, so he is struggling with the pain, but he needs a second to regroup to figure out what Keith is up to, since they can't talk through the bond. Lance is gonna have to guess the game plan, he decides, but then, when he feels a burst of determination through the bond, and a sense of both the need to hurry and to wait, he figures it out. Keith is hauling ass –somehow- back up the sides of the platform, and he's rushing, but he wants Lance to stall their resident druidic nightmare. 

Lance can do that in his _sleep_. 

"Missing something?" Lance drawls, straightening up slowly. He presses his hand to his side because _damn_, the pain is starting to fizz up again, bubbling to the surface.

"Did you take the code, Falosian?" the druid barks, pausing for a moment. "You would dare to – "

Lance holds out his arms, twisting the knife in his hands, playing with it. "You want the code?" Lance asks with a raised eyebrow. "You gotta come get it and pry it from my cold, dead hands, because I'm pretty sure it's inside me and not coming out in a hurry."

The druid snorts; a mirthless sound of derision. "The code will destroy you," the druid says, stepping toward Lance. The druid's feet leave the ground and it hovers, robes billowing around it. Even Lance can tell it's building up for something good, because there's that main boss in _Killbot Phantasm_ that needs to recharge before unleashing his Deadly Wind of Death move, which basically kills everyone instantly. Lance would know; he's yet to figure out how to pass the level, and nobody at the space mall sells a cheat guide.

"Yeah, yeah, heard it before," Lance mutters, waving his hand. "I know the code is gonna kill me. You think I can't tell it's eating at me from the inside already?"

"Stupid, to steal something that will kill you," the druid remarks, hovering. Lightning flickers at its fingertips, arcing between its hands, and then the energy begins to form into a small, compact sphere of violet energy, growing larger. The air tightens between them, thick with electricity and the burnt smell of spent ozone. "Or did you not realize how dangerous it was? Did your alpha let you take the code even knowing it might hurt you? Or did you think to sacrifice yourself, like a noble knight of old? They'll never find your body, child; your pain and dying breaths will feed me, it will –"

Something pointy, and probably quite deadly, appears in the middle of the druid's chest. It pushes through easily, cleaving through the golden line embroidered into the front of its robe. For a moment, Lance is confused. Admittedly, he’d gotten a little caught up in the druid's monologue, so when the blade appears through the middle of his chest, pushing outward and spilling black blood, it takes Lance a moment to catch up. 

Keith!

The druid screeches in agony, the noise grating on Lance's ears, and as the druid drops to the floor, the ball of energy at his fingertips discharges at Lance, gold and violet lightening arcing into his torso, a mixture of excruciating pain and calming warmth. Lance crumples to the floor with a shout of pain he can't hold back, and the druid rushes forward, fingers like claws, grabbing at Lance's ankle. Lance twists, grips his knife and buries it to the hilt inside the body of the druid. The druid shrieks again, another ear-piercing scream of pain and anger, rematerializing close to the edge of the platform. For a moment, the druid flails, attempting to dislodge the blade from its back.

A shadow moves from behind the console, and Lance smirks, because that's Keith alright; super-secretive Blade member, about to get even on Lance's behalf. In a single fluid movement Keith is ducking behind the druid, grasping at its robes before it can build up enough alchemic magic to fight back again. Keith pulls out the sword, twisting it hard, and then brings it around in an arc. It takes the druid's head off cleanly in one stroke, the body and the head dissolving instantly into magic pixelations, dust in the air that sparkles prettily for a few moments before fading away completely.

Keith stands there, sword dripping with black gore, breath heaving in his chest. The sword begins to fade back into a knife, and Keith moves, darting toward Lance and sliding to his knees next to him. "Lance, talk to me," Keith stutters, eyes wide. His hands rests on Lance's chest gently, and Lance can feel Keith's fingers shaking. His whole body is shaking, actually. 

He grasps at Keith's hand, holding tight. "Shhh," Lance hums, "it's okay, we're alive. We're both alive. Holy shit." Lance reaches up, snags Keith around the back of the neck, pulls him down and kisses him hard. Keith responds; it's desperate and messy, and he's pretty sure Keith's lip is cut and now bleeding, but he's got Keith pressed against him and somehow, they're both still breathing.

"You dumb son of a bitch," Keith whispers furiously when he pulls away, voice hot with emotion. "I couldn't reach you through the bond!"

Lance freezes. "Well, I thought you were dead!" he exclaims, sitting up a little, trying to hide the wince from his injured side. "I saw you go over the edge and fall! Forgive me for taking a while to figure out that you were still alive, and, and…yanno, if we could actually talk through this bond rather than play _guess the complicated plan of attack_, we'd - "

"What?! " Keith flounders in his frustration, searching for words. He's runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident now it's clear they are both okay and, for the most part, still in one piece. "You still figured it out! We had each other's back!"

"Yeah, well," Lance splutters, "So it worked out okay?"

They both stare at each other, blinking furiously. Keith seems to have lost his train of thought, and Lance isn't sure if they just double-negatived each other into actually being in agreement or not. 

Fuck it.

"Did you get hit by that lightning ball?" Keith says next. It'll do as an apology, Lance supposes, without actually being one. Typical Keith, he thinks fondly.

"Yes?"

Keith shifts and pulls at Lance's shirt, revealing a dark pattern of thin, spidery black lines that resemble burns on Lance's skin. "I thought so."

"It doesn't hurt nearly as much as it did a few minutes ago." Lance curls over and brushes his fingers over one of the lines etched across his skin. It makes his skin buzz, and he can't decide if it hurts or tingles. It's not a pleasant feeling, whatever it is. "Weirdly, I don't feel as much pain compared to earlier, considering that just before Thunderstruck the druid there got all floaty I thought I was heading for another round of excruciating pain."

Keith pulls Lance to his feet. "But it feels okay now?" Keith bites his lip, thinking hard, frown evident on his face.

"Well, it still hurts, like a lot. But I don't feel like it's cycling up to knock me on my ass again. Maybe the lightning had some kind of weird cancelling mojo in it."

Keith shakes his head fondly. He reaches for Lance's arm, and then squeezes gently, sliding his hand down to circle Lance's wrist and then slip into his hand, gripping tightly. "I can feel your exhaustion, and some pain," Keith says, leaning his forehead against Lance's and cupping his cheek. "Do you think you are okay to get moving, or do you need to rest?"

"We should get out of here before any other druids show up," Lance replies. "I'm not sure if this one found us by accident of if we tripped an alarm or something, but I don't think I wanna stick around to find out."

Keith tilts his head and Lance pushes forward, their noses bumping, lip meeting in a delicate, soft kiss, completely opposite to the frantic reconnection they'd made earlier.

"Okay," Keith says. "Time to swing back across the chasm to the door, which the nice druid left open for us."

"Convenient," Lance observes tartly. Then he thinks about what Keith just said and then startles. "Oh fuck no, you are not swinging me back across that divide on another piece of space string. Uh uh, no."

He holds up a finger, as if to argue further, but Keith simply snags it and pulls it around his shoulder, along with Lance's arm. "Hold tight, princess," Keith says. "I wanna take you for a ride."

* * *

Lance leans against the wall near the bottom of the stairs, propping himself up. If he sank to the ground or sat down, he's not sure he'd get back up. He's tired; the pain sapping his energy. He almost thinks it would be easier to deal with if the pain was a constant presence; his body could work with that, figure out how to ride it out. But the pain seems to come and go in cycles, almost like it has a dormant state followed by a peak that crests. It's weird; since he'd been hit by the druidic lightning, it hasn't been cycling as quickly. It's almost as if the ball of alchemic energy is enough to pacify the code, to make it less effective for the time being, and to slow it down. 

Lance glances over at Keith, who's sorting through one of his pockets in his pants, organizing things before they make a final break for the surface. 

"I think when that druid zapped me something weird happened with the code," Lance says hesitatingly. He feels like he's starting to slur his words, exhaustion clawing at him as the minutes pass.

Keith pushes the map back in his pocket after a final once over, probably memorizing their path back to the corridor and the gateway. "What do you mean? Is it getting worse again?" Keith walks over and gently places a hand on Lance's hip, waiting for permission. Lance unfolds his arms and holds them loosely at his side, letting Keith push his shirt up. The skin where the lightning hit is covered in a thin web of black, bruised lines, slightly raised, the skin pink and irritated around it. It covers some of his hipbone, and a little of his stomach, but considering the force at which he was hit, and the intent behind it, it's a relatively small injury.

"Do you think my body – or maybe the code - absorbed most of that lightning when I got hit?" Lance asks.

Keith looks puzzled. "Do you remember when I got in a fight with a druid in that Galra transport hub we broke into? I almost got killed from one or two of its lightning bolts. I'm not sure, but the strike that hit you should have done a lot more damage, so maybe the code somehow protected you."

"Great, I'm host to a weirdly protective but cannibalistic space-code. Fun times."

Keith snorts. He looks down again, stroking his fingers over the web of bruising on Lance's hip thoughtfully. 

Lance's stomach flips at the touch, and he reaches out to grab at Keith's wrist. "Shit," he hisses out in surprise, "That's sensitive, Keith."

"Sorry." Keith doesn't move to touch again, but instead, watches Lance for a cue. "Like burning sensitive or tingling?" he asks.

"Sort of both, can't really tell," Lance says, letting out a breath slowly, relaxing. "It's like my wires are crossed in that spot."

Keith raises an eyebrow. He looks like he's made up his mind about something. "Okay, I think we really need to get you out of here and back to a healing pod, stat. At the very least get you to the shack so we can take a better look at it. There's a scanner there and a proper medkit."

Lance nods, because the castleship sounds like a really good idea right about now. He might not even complain about getting in a pod, and he hates those things, hates the feeling of helplessness right before it shuts him down to heal. Those last, precious few seconds as the pod engages into its healing cycle, when he's still conscious, are terrifying, and Lance doesn't ever think he'll get used to that. But, the lure of being pain free is a siren call he can't resist. "Sounds good." 

They make their way slowly up the stairs, Keith taking point at the front, Lance bringing up the rear. There's no sign that anyone else has been this way since they broke in, and Lance wonders where the druid they killed came from. Maybe there are others down here in this section of the base, which is why they didn't run into any others on their way here. What else might be in the bowels of this ship-turned-base? Are there other Galra here, or is this place hiding other things?

"Lance?"

Keith calls to Lance softly, worry pushing at their bond, and Lance focuses back in. "Sorry, babe. Zoned out for a bit."

"Did you just call me babe?"

Lance shrugs, not trying to hide his smirk. "Maybe? Gonna punish me later?"

Keith rolls his eyes, not bothering to reply, but Lance can feel the amusement in the background of the bond. He gestures, and Lance steps closer. This little lobby is where they arrived, where they came through the alchemic gateway outside the strongbox. "Okay, so need to be prepared in case there's resistance outside," Keith says. "We should probably expect a lot of sentries." He steps carefully into Lance's space, cognizant of the way Lance had reacted earlier to the touch to his skin. He's being careful now, and while Lance is grateful, he misses Keith's casual touches.

"I'm ready," Lance replies. "I've seen more than enough of this base to last me a lifetime. I kinda wanna get out of here, grab a nice bubble bath, maybe watch a rom-com, and have you pet my hair for the foreseeable future while we cuddle on the couch."

"Sounds reasonable," Keith smirks. He places his hand on the scanner and the circle lights up, dragging them through the ether in a familiar, instantaneous wrench that puts further strain on Lance's body. He doesn't think he can do this much more often, not while carrying the code like this. It's shredding his body on a cellular level, he thinks, and alchemic travel isn't a great idea, not unless he's got the protection of something metal like the castleship around him to shield him from the worst of it.

The gateway spits them out between the two inactive sentries Keith had powered down earlier, but other than that, there's no other activity. Lance isn't gonna argue with a stroke of good luck like this, and he grabs at Keith's hand. Together, they book it down the corridor, a silent agreement to get as much distance between themselves and the place they've broken into. They're both so focused on getting away, getting out, that they miss the corridor they should have turned down, instead getting turned around in a section of corridor that looks newer than the others. Here, the lights in the hallway are bright, the floor clean and free of dust. 

"Fuck," Lance says, just as an alarm sounds. "I think we tripped something."

"Agreed," Keith says, tugging at Lance's wrist. He pulls his knife with the other, and Lance does the same, ignoring the fizz of pain through his body when he bends to retrieve his blade from his boot.

"Time to motor. Do you remember the rest of the way to the gateway?" Lance backtracks, with Keith hard on his heels. They try to stick to the shadows as much as they can, but at this point, haste is more important. The ground shakes beneath their feet, and Lance thinks it's another earth tremor until they are confronted with a squad of sentries, guns pointed at them.

Lance tightens his grip on the knife in his palm, feeling the, by-now, familiar weight of it. "If we can get a rifle from one of them, this'll be much easier," Lance says casually.

"It would." Keith releases Lance's hand with a final squeeze, and steps out into the corridor. He's gone in a rush, barrelling toward the group of sentries, and Lance yelps in surprise, chasing after Keith. He sees Keith pull his signature move; feint left, drop to his knees, and use his momentum to slide beneath the sentry's reach and take it down, coming up behind the next one. Lance has seen him do this countless times on the training deck, but this... it's incredible to watch when it's a real fight, when it has to count. Keith's luxite blade severs the sentry's arm in one go, and it and the rifle drops to the floor, just tantalizingly out of Lance's reach. 

Lance ducks in to retrieve the weapon, but four more sentries appear from behind them. The blur of purple laser fire lights up the corridor, and Lance is forced to duck into an alcove and away from the weapon he needs to get his hands on. They are severely underpowered compared to the sentries, and quickly being overwhelmed by numbers. Plus, Lance has temporarily lost sight of Keith, and when he realizes that, he feels a fission of fear tremble though him. Instead of panicking, instead of assuming that Keith has fallen, Lance checks in with the bond. Keith is there, blazing like a bright light in his mind; tired but focused. Lance's heart jumps in his chest, the feeling of soft warmth, a tight aching in Lance's chest for something he's always wanted but that he doesn't want to name yet. And then he feels a sharp slice of agony across the bond, across his shoulder in phantom pain, and he knows instinctively that Keith's hurt. With a growl, Lance throws himself out of the alcove, dodging laser fire and sentries like he was born to it. 

"Keith!" Lance shouts, trying to get a bead on where Keith actually is amongst the forest of enemies in front and to the side of him. "Keith! Where the fuck are you?!"

Suddenly there's a sentry in front of Lance, aiming his rifle point blank, and Lance twists, narrowly avoiding the laser fire. He jumps, pushing off the wall, ignoring the burning complaint of his tired body, and drops down, burying his knife in the sentry's face where it glows with ghostly violet light. "Keith!"

Lance feels a ping off the bond, and relief rushes through him. He pushes back at the bond with concern, with haste, with relief, and feels that same mental ping again on his left side at eleven o'clock. He yanks the knife out of the sentry's face, watching it drop. Lance goes with it; falls to the ground, landing in a crouch. In a split second he has the rifle in his hand, and he turns, taking out three sentries, one after the other, with controlled headshots. He ducks and rolls into another alcove, and then turns into the next corridor. He can see Keith across the way, exactly where he'd felt his mental ping originate from, and he can see Keith is crouched down, hand pressed against his left shoulder. Blood trickles from between his fingers, and his face is pinched in pain, jaw set in a harsh line.

When Keith notices him, he smirks at Lance, but it's more of a grimace. The bond feels fuzzy, and Lance wonders if Keith is trying to block him out a little. Lance pushes irritation at Keith, and gestures at him. "Get over here," he mouths, and points to the right. They need to go that way, provided they can get through the wall of remaining sentries. 

Keith takes a deep breath, and there's soothing energy caressing over the bond. It centers Lance, grounds him for a moment. Keith makes a gesture with his left hand; it's a series of two quick signs that they use as a team when on a mission. It means 'together', and Keith points down the way they need to go. Alright, Lance thinks, at least they are in agreement again about getting the hell out of this place. Keith makes another gesture, 'on three', and Lance nods. He grips the rifle, keeping it at the ready, and counts down with Keith. At the same time Keith bursts from the alcove with his knife drawn, Lance swivels around. He takes out one sentry just before it reaches Keith, and then Lance is booking it behind Keith, hard on his heels, lining up a running shot to take out another that appears from a new direction. The building is now on full alert; any hope of them breaking out and remaining off the radar is gone. At least they are running in the right direction, toward the hidden gateway. 

They pass through the newer parts of the base, into the brick-lined older corridors. Lance is almost nipping at Keith's heels they are so close, his chest heaving. And then he feels that insidious trickle of pain start up, fuzzing at his insides, burning through his veins. Whatever the druidic lightning had done to him had held the pain off long enough, but now it's creeping back, amping up until Lance is trying to hold off a gasp. Fortunately for him, Keith is too caught up in running for their lives to notice anything is wrong at first, and as they skid around the corner, they are confronted by the broken, busted wall of the corridor, finally buckled and collapsed in on itself after the earth tremors they'd felt. The trickle of water is now a gushing river of deep water, and in his haste, Keith can't stop his momentum. He vaults over it, arms pinwheeling, using his Galra strength to propel him over the obstruction, hands scrabbling at the piles of broken brick on the far side. He's expecting Lance to be right behind him, but Lance knows he's not going to make it. The pain is vicious as it grinds through him, all encompassing.

Lance skids to a halt, turning on the spot and firing off a series of rapid shots into the crowd of sentries behind them. He drops two more of the sentries, and the remaining three have to slow to avoid their fallen comrades, which creates a bottleneck in the corridor. 

"LANCE!" Keith shouts. He sounds frantic with worry.

Lance drops to his knee behind a heap of fallen brickwork and lines up another shot. "Sorry, I'm a bit busy, Keith," he shouts back. "You should get moving before we lose the advantage." Lance grits his teeth. He fires off two more shots, pleased to see another one of the sentries fall. "I've made up my mind." He glances a quick look behind him, tries to avoid Keith's shocked expression. He tamps down the bond, refusing to let his panic and the escalating pain sway Keith into trying to do something foolhardy and heroic. He wants to keep this from Keith, because Keith needs to survive.

"I'm not leaving without you." Keith sounds frantic, devastated, like he already knows what Lance intends to do.

"You have to." Lance pauses for a quick moment, squinting, because he can see more movement beyond the sentry bottleneck he's created. "There's Galra soldiers coming, Keith. I can't -" he risks looking at Keith, meeting his eyes. "My body isn't going to hold out much longer," he admits. "Even if I could make the jump I'm not gonna get much further. You need to complete the mission and get what we discussed done. You know how important this is. This is much bigger than either of us, Keith."

"I -" Keith huffs in a shuddering breath, then lets out a growl that shivers through Lance's guts. "I can't leave without you," Keith admits in a broken voice. He looks small and defeated for a moment, vulnerable as he stands there.

His words sound remarkably like a confession, and Lance takes a moment to look into Keith's eyes, to note every little thing about him. He ignores the pain as it cycles higher, closer and closer to the peak. Lance is probably going to lose consciousness soon, he's already biting back the agony, the tears of pain, not wanting Keith to do something stupid just to save his dumb ass.

Another blast of purple laser fire ricochets by Lance; a second and third bury themselves into the wall by Keith. A spray of water erupts from the forming lake between them as one of the Galra fire some type of assault rifle, shots thudding into the water, and then the ground, making Keith duck for cover. Luck has been with them so far; the sentries are programmed to get the job done, to protect the base. They aren't programmed to use instinct. With the arrival of the Galra soldiers, the game has changed immediately.

Before they’d left the room at the inn this morning - such a long time ago it seems - they'd made a pact. One of them, at the very least, must make it off planet and use the codes to secure the Cradle, the facility that builds the sentries. They can't risk passing on this once-in-a-universal chance to cripple the Galra Empire for good, no matter how much Lance wants to fold himself into Keith's arms and never leave.

Lance pushes his love down the bond toward Keith, and turns toward the crowd of Galra heading his way. They've clearly decided Lance is the easier target; he has the gun, but he's closer, he's not protected by swiftly moving water where they can be picked off one by one as they attempt to cross. Lance knows this, knows he's making himself a target. But he also knows it's likely the code will kill him anyway, so he's on borrowed time already.

_Go_, Lance thinks, pushing the command down the link toward Keith. _Don't waste the time I've given you to escape. _

With that thought, he shoulders the gun and steps out into corridor, firing rapidly with his weapon. He can feel the heat of a laser bolt as it skims past his collarbone, the burn fleeting but intense. The pain inside him is insidious, crawling, and he's so focused on remaining alive long enough for Keith to escape he almost misses Keith's response through the bond; determination, distress, anger, and something like love, before he's disappearing down the corridor, toward the gateway.

_He loves me_, Lance thinks, and grins manically. _My alpha, my mate_.

They always say fools rush in, and Lance does just that. He fires the rifle one last time, picking off a straggler that makes the mistake of sticking his head out of cover, and then he starts to run toward the Galra soldiers. He barrels into the crowd of surprised Galra with a final war cry that rips from his throat, and then there are hands on him, gripping at his body, pulling him down. He goes willingly into the oncoming darkness, knowing that now, with his sacrifice, Keith will have a much better chance of survival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please do not hate me, okay?!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Be Alive With Me Tonight](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23539939) by [utlaginn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/utlaginn/pseuds/utlaginn)


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